All There In The Manual
by EmperorDoofenshmirtz
Summary: Smile Away AU. The non-linear, and likely nonsensical happenings within the twisted mirror of canon. An assortment of one-shots, serials and other such strangeness.
1. Devil In The Gateway: Part One

**Wait a minute, I'm back? There's explanation at the end, until then just roll with it.**

**Devil In The Gateway Part One - Crossroads**

* * *

Gretchen added another cord onto her conspiracy web. The lines reached across the entirety of her room, connected to newspaper cuttings and notes that covered the walls and ceiling. She was seconds away from proving the link between mobile phones and zombies, she just _knew _it. Everyone thought zombies were fictional, but Gretchen had always maintained her paranoia. _Justified paranoia, _she thought.

"Hurm. Take this line here… Nokia… Voodoo loa… Voodoo zombies different from regular zombies… divide by three… add one satellite… Mayan prophecies, combine with Ray Harryhausen's predictions in Jason and the Argonauts…"

There was a knock on the attic door. Gretchen grumbled a little – compared to her sister's apartment, Adyson's house seemed to be full of people, all the time. Still, given her sister's aptitude for disappearing, Adyson's house was the logical choice for accommodation.

Adyson's father clambered up the ladder and narrowly avoided slipping on a survival guide.

"Phone for you Gretch," he said, throwing it to her.

Gretchen nodded, catching it, before telling the man to watch out for the bear trap, which he barely avoided.

"You're seventeen, you do realise that?" he said before disappearing down the hatch. "Oh, and Fenris got into the bins again, tidy up when you're done."

Gretchen rolled her eyes and put the phone to her ear.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Gretchen? It's Braun, Dr Braun up at the Detention Centre, remember? Look, we have a real problem here, and I hate to indulge her, but…"

Gretchen grew stony-faced as she listened to the man on the other end. When he finished, she mumbled her thanks and hung up abruptly. She stood in the attic, her bedroom, for a little over five minutes, before suddenly springing to life. The ladder rattled loudly as she slid down, and the clatter as she reached the bottom brought Fenris up the stairs instantly. The black Labrador cocked his head at his owner, who absent-mindedly ruffled his ears.

"What do you suppose this means?" Gretchen said aloud.

Fenris made a strange noise, and Gretchen shrugged, and opened the door to Adyson's room.

"JESUS CHRIST!" came the shout from within, and there was a flurry of movement.

"Gretchen!" said the second voice, Adyson's voice. "That tie was on the door for a reason!"

"A most unorthodox place for it. Your room needs more order," said Gretchen, walking into the room and putting Adyson's tie back in the wardrobe.

Adyson rose, and immediately started laughing.

"It's not funny!" said her companion, pulling herself up. "It's creepy, you live in a goddamned sit-com!"

"I'm sorry, I didn't get your name," Gretchen said.

"Just… ugh!" The girl stormed from the room. Adyson and Gretchen listened as the door slammed shut downstairs.

"Hurm. I think that I am somewhat detrimental to your libido."

Adyson sat back down on the bed, rubbing her nose and suppressing what might have been frustration, but with her it was hard to tell.

"That's the second time you've done that… I liked you better when you actively tried to be an asshole," she groaned. As if someone had flicked a switch, her face immediately brightened. "So what's going on?"

"Braun called."

"Ferrea?"

"Do we know anyone else Braun sees to?"

"Well, Phineas. Just not anymore. Hey, wasn't Braun killed by Ironside?"

Gretchen shrugged. "Apparently it didn't take."

"And if the author realises this, then…"

"You've lost me I'm afraid. Come on, have to stop off at Mr Slushy Burger."

"I'll get your surgical mask and gloves then."

"Good thinking," said Gretchen. "Germs everywhere in those places."

* * *

The Povenmire-Marsh Juvenile Detention Centre was as garish as ever, but the two girls had become accustomed to it over the years. Braun was waiting for them inside the lobby, each nervous glance from side-to-side making his middle-aged paunch jiggle comically. He raised an eyebrow at the brown bag of fast food Gretchen was carrying at arm's length, but otherwise ignored it.

"Ah, thank you for coming," he gestured to follow, but did not move towards the visitor rooms.

"Where are we going?" asked Adyson.

"Her conditions specified the meeting take place in her room," Braun said. "Thankfully I'm in charge here as well as having a proper job. Pulled a few strings. I had little choice of course."

"How long has she been starving herself?"

"She barely eats as it is, but five days ago she just stopped. I'm in a bad position here – either she gets what she wants or we have to force-feed her, and you know how that'll look when it gets out."

"Wonderful," said Gretchen.

The Centre did not have 'blocks'; rather, 'wards', which Gretchen thought made the place sound even worse despite the obvious intention to the contrary. On the whole, Danville and Jeffville were not big cities, and many of the 'rooms' (not cells, Gretchen reminded herself) held a single occupant. However, it did keep the convicted youths happy if they had their own room.

The female ward was fairly sparse from the look of it, but the noise was still cacophonic. Braun stopped at the security desk and asked the girls to empty their pockets of anything sharp, or anything that looked as if it might suddenly decide to turn sharp. Feeling somewhat naked without her pockets stuffed with strange items, Gretchen grudgingly began walking down the corridor.

"How's your son?" Adyson asked.

Braun sighed. "He's getting worse Adyson, but thank you for asking. I don't know how I'm going to pay for it."

Adyson was not sure exactly what Braun's son had, but the news never seemed to be good. He seemed ever-present on the 'prayers for the sick' notices in her church. Not that she would say she went to church of course – Gretchen was nearby.

"Send my best wishes along too," someone rasped from the end of the corridor.

"That's her telling me to leave," said Braun. "Tell me what she says and for god's sake don't provoke her."

Gretchen paused, sliding out her contacts and placing them into a small case. Her glasses flashed as she slid them along the bridge of her nose.

"Provoke her?" she said. "Dr Braun, everyone _loves us,_ can't you tell?"

"Good one Gretch."

Gretchen opened the door to the last room on the right and slipped inside. The rooms were constructed to be as pleasant as possible – the heavy front door led to a form of porch, and the real 'cell' began with a plastic screen that contained a little door to the rest of the room. Presumably this was to create the feeling of a small house, but Gretchen found it more constricting than anything. She tried the plastic door, but it did not move.

"That's locked, and forgive me, but I think it will stay that way," the voice rasped again. "When there are no guards around, please excuse my own safety precautions Gretchen. Not that I don't trust you of course."

Despite the rasp and the coughing, Lucy Ferrea's speech was as rapid and overlapping as ever, and Adyson still found herself trying to catch up. Around the walls of the prisoner's room were watercolour paintings, portraits, and Adyson mentally listed each of them – Thomas Rains; Patient 27, or Daniel Wales; Patient 28 – Simon Wales; Robert 'Bob' Paulson. There were several others whom she did not recognise.

Gretchen pulled out the two-way drawer system and dropped in the Mr Slushy Burger bag before slamming it shut. The figure on the other side scuttled forward and snatched the bag hungrily. The packets of fries were pulled out desperately, and packets upon packets of salt poured on. Adyson made a face.

"That's more salt than fry now."

Ferrea said nothing and tore into the heart-attack inducing food. It was rather nauseating to watch, grease and salt flying everywhere. Ferrea was even more spindly and skeletal than before, and it occurred to Gretchen that she might be seriously underweight. When the potato-related carnage had subsided, Ferrea calmly washed her hands and face before drawing up a chair and sitting across from them.

"Thank you. Never has been enough salt in here."

Adyson and Gretchen looked at each other and shrugged.

"How's Fenris?" Lucy asked.

"Fine. Got into the bins again and I had to clean it up."

Ferrea smiled lazily. The plastic dulled them somewhat, but Gretchen was able to see the return of a sharp intelligence in the green eyes. The redhead leaned back on her chair.

"I paint from memory. It's almost photographic. They test that here actually. Today I'm supposed to be a high-functioning sociopath."

"Do any of them deserve a portrait?" Gretchen asked lowly, looking directly at the painting of 27.

Lucy followed Gretchen's gaze. "You might not think so, Gretchen, but I've had time to remember in here. And they were my friends during that time."

"What're the showers like in here?" Adyson said suddenly, smashing the tension apart.

The other two girls chuckled.

"Nothing like the movies Adyson," said Lucy. "And I suspect, most unlike the thoughts running through your head right now."

Adyson grinned sheepishly. Lucy drummed her fingers against a bony knee. Suddenly she shot up, and crossed the room back to her bed, apparently searching for something underneath it.

"Why the drama, Lucy?" Gretchen said. "Why did we have to drop everything?"

"You enjoy your little mysteries," said Ferrea, "just as much as Mr Flynn enjoys his projects. He visited the other day, gave me flowers."

"Can you ever stick to one conversation?" Adyson exclaimed.

Gretchen looked at her friend incredulously. "Adyson."

"What?"

"Pots and kettles."

"That's racist."

Ferrea ignored the exchanges between the teenagers on the other side of the screen and began talking over them, rummaging around the papers scattered across her cell.

"I am a rather popular person these days, you might have heard."

Gretchen snorted. "Is this about the buried treasure?"

Rumour had it that while in control of Danville, Ferrea had stolen massive amounts of money and hidden it somewhere as a precaution. Gretchen had thought about this – it sounded like Ferrea to plan that far in advance, but if it was the case, there was no record of it. Of course, Ferrea had been in complete control – she would not have made records in the first place. Nothing had come of it however, and only the occasional sensationalist came treasure hunting in Danville. Gretchen suspected that if there was money, it had been looted from the Smile Away hotel.

"Nothing so material," said Ferrea, "but yes, that is one of the reasons for my popularity. Anyway, I am the recipient of quite a lot of fan-mail."

"Who'd write to you?" said Gretchen.

"Cheerleaders wanting to know how you stay so thin?" Adyson suggested.

"Howard Carter?" Gretchen ventured.

"Lord Voldemort?"

"Lucifer Morningstar?"

"Tinky Winky?"

Gretchen looked at Adyson. "You just took that too far."

Ferrea stood, clutching a sizable pile of papers.

"Here." The drawer system jutted forward with a clatter, and Gretchen removed the letters carefully. They were all handwritten and fairly chaotic in appearance.

"Prisons are probably the only places people write letters anymore," she remarked.

"I wrote a letter to the president when I was a kid," said Adyson. "Now I'm not allowed out of this state."

Gretchen shuffled the papers and squinted down her glasses at the first one. It was dated several months prior.

_Dear Ms Ferrea,_

_I've admired you for years now, but allow me to take the first step – I would be grateful, honoured, even, if you were interested in a correspondence. There are so many things I would like to tell you – and show you, but there are restrictions – if only you would spare some of your time. _(The next sentence was viciously scribbled out.) _Until then, I am a great admirer of your stance._

Gretchen looked up. "This is what I came down here for? Why you went on a hunger-strike?"

"It's very 'oh, you're amazing'," Adyson commented.

"Such is presumably the purpose of fan-mail," Ferrea said dryly.

"Was it sticky when you opened-!"

Gretchen mercifully interrupted. "The others, are they from the same author?"

Ferrea nodded.

"And did you reply?"

"Sometimes," Ferrea drawled, beginning to pace her cell. "I get lots of that sort, so I usually reply with something like 'thank you for your interest, I enjoyed reading your letter'. They only started getting different at the fourth letter."

Gretchen decided to skip ahead to the aforementioned fourth letter, rationalising that two pages of sycophantic drivel in-between would probably induce diabetes. This letter looked angry in style, more desperate than before.

_Dear Ms Ferrea_

_I've tried and tried and tried, but it's not working. I've tried to live up to your standards, gain some followers, some like-minded individuals, but it's not working! I had to dump the test and start all over again. I'm sorry, I've failed your vision. People need to think the same, but I don't have your technology, or intelligence, or foresight, you have to understand! Do you understand? I don't expect you to, I ask for forgiveness. There's no record, no memory of the first test, I'll start anew, and I'll act for you. Do you understand? Your efforts, my efforts, they will not be in vain. Smaller scale, do you understand? Do you understand?_

_How do you control a scream? The masses scream for change, but then they resist it! I understand your frustration with them – a lesser thinker might call them sheep! But they're not, they're swine. They're more revolting than sheep, they're squalor is their own fault, do you understand_

"Question mark omission," said Gretchen. "In fact, there are errors everywhere. Grammatically, this man's a criminal mastermind."

"The guy's a nut," said Adyson, somewhat hypocritically, "but I don't see it as a problem. Lots of people have crazy fans, especially crazy people like yourself."

"I'm not crazy," said Ferrea. "I'm not."

Gretchen sat back in the chair, looking away from the rambling fan-mail. Slowly, she examined the convict, who was now crouched on her 'bed' (a cot, if Gretchen was asked), rocking gently, knees pressed against her chest. Ferrea looked fairly frightened, and so Gretchen rethought her position.

"What is it in the letter that brought us here?"

Ferrea ground her teeth before she spoke. "He, and let's say it is he, is talking about a test. He doesn't just say no record, he says no memory. He's experimenting on children."

"Leaping to conclusions perhaps, let's-!"

"No, listen. Just before that letter came, on the news, there was that boy in Jeffville, I forget his name. Went missing, big search, and an over-the-top sob story on the news. Next week, he turns up, pale and amnesiac, but otherwise fine."

"The parents must be relieved."

"I wouldn't know," Ferrea replied. "The boy tested positive for monocane."

"As in Smile-Away-woo-I'm-rabid monocane?" Adyson asked.

"No, the popular kids' drink, Adyson," Gretchen said.

A blank stare from Ferrea revealed that Gretchen's sarcasm had passed her by unnoticed.

"Adyson was correct."

"I'm aware."

"But you said… Never mind. If you put all the facts together, there's the possibility that someone is attempting old Smile Away mind control. The Ludovico treatment. And they're not successful. It's only a matter of time before someone is killed."

Adyson and Gretchen looked at each other. Several seconds passed before Adyson nodded solemnly.

"We'll look into it."

"Thank you. You can tell Mr Dr Braun about this, you might need to contact me through him."

The two visitors took their cue, and awkwardly began to shuffle towards the exit. Just before Gretchen closed the door, Ferrea suddenly spoke, not entirely directed at the departing.

"I'm almost 18. They're going to transfer me soon." She sounded scared.

At the security desk, they took some time explaining the situation to Dr Braun, who agreed that the police would likely ignore such theories, but told them only to investigate to a safe extent. Gretchen surmised that Braun thought the investigation would do wonders for his patient's psychological condition.

They met Fenris at the doors, and Adyson hazardously drove the way back home, and Gretchen was only yanked forward in her seat four times.

"Back to Baker Street, then?" Adyson said.

"Now that Moriarty's done with us," growled her passenger.

* * *

**It was never my intention to return to this universe (by which I mean this AU – I am not, as some have suspected, a universe-traversing planet-devouring monstrosity), but then, I don't really see this as a continuation of the main story that I finished. This fic exists entirely to provide episodic happenings within this universe, and things that I forgot, omitted, or just plain never got round to including as well. I'll try to have more extensive notes here too.**

**Adyson's remark about Braun is entirely accurate – he's Thomas' therapist at the beginning of SART, and it does appear that he is killed in an explosion. Now he's alive! And apparently, he and his wife finally did have a kid… who's deathly ill. Yeah, I'm like that.**

**I just like the image of Gretchen literally living in Adyson's attic, like some annoying bespectacled gremlin. The return of her glasses needs a guitar riff and 'YEAAAAH!' in the background though.  
**

**So what can you expect from this series? Well, in no way indicative of the order they'll be uploaded and in no way concrete:**

**The remaining parts of this arc;**

'**Thunderbolts!' – starring the Smile Away kids (which will be next week's);**

**A story about Gimmelschtump – either with Doof or Phineastein;**

**Psych reports – for both protagonists and antagonists;**

**Virtual reality – Phineas and Ferb's machine and what others would see, ie Gretchen, Adyson, etc;**

'**Summer Belongs To Us!' – 27 and 28 travel round the world in a day, assassinating their targets. Obviously very black comedy;**

**And whatever else comes to me. Hopefully you'll stick around, but maybe I've bored the hell out of you already. Thanks for reading.**


	2. Thunderbolts!

**Thunderbolts!**

_**The most unambiguously heroic team in the galaxy!**_

* * *

__"Three sixes!"

The cup was overturned, one cry of triumph from the victor, one grunt of failure from the loser, and murmured comments from those who had made it unscathed. The winner collected his own dice as well as the spoils and placed them all under his cup. He wore a proud smile as he declared a break in the game. One of the spectators withdrew from the table to retrieve something from the kitchen.

"How did you know?" asked the loser.

"I guessed, that's how it goes," the winner shrugged good-naturedly.

The other player who had remained seated rested his head on the table. "Does anyone know what that song is, with the saxophone that goes like this?" he made a passable imitation of the solo in question.

The loser shook her head, but the winner paused, struggling to identify the song in question. Colourful swear words could be heard under his breath, his hands fidgeting as he felt himself drawing closer to the answer.

"It's… balls… it's shittin' Sherlock Holmes!"

"The name of the song?" The boy clarified.

"Mm," said the winner. "Ain't that right, Sherlock Homes?"

The boy who had left for the kitchen sat back down at the table and shook his head.

"Nah, you're, ah, close, it's Baker Street I think. Why?"

"I have that saxophone stuck in my head." The fat boy said, and then looked slightly worried as the girl checked his cranium. "It's an expression."

The Voice of Fate looked confused, and drummed her fingers on the table. The food brought from the kitchen was mostly non-vegetarian, and she ignored it, reaching instead for the salt. Her male companions leaned back in horror as she apparently consumed enough to induce several massive heart attacks. Afterwards, she sat a small case on the table and cracked it open.

"Christ, that's not healthy," muttered 27.

"I can get, ah, salad, if you want Lucy," said 28.

"I'm going to open a window," Bob diplomatically decided.

Ferrea smiled, pleased that 28 had used the name 'Lucy' – the name she had recently chosen for herself. She removed one of her father's cigars from the case and examined it curiously. They had been at the hotel two days now, and she fairly enjoyed the visits – they were staying in the twins' room, which was far more luxurious than anything the reformatory school had to offer. Lucy sat the cigar back down, having nothing with which to light it.

28 looked relieved, before shooting straight back into nervous. "I still think we should have invited Thomas."

27 cracked his knuckles angrily. "Just because you want him here, doesn't mean we fucken should have!"

Bob massaged his temples while the other three launched into a debate about whether Rains' presence was required or not. 27 was very much against it, 28 very much for it, and Ferrea seemed to switch sides every other sentence. Bob smiled his greetings as he felt a figure suddenly rise behind him.

"They know yet? Aheheh."

Bob shook his head, and the figure chuckled.

"Gentlemen," said Thomas Rains, and the unsuspecting trio nearly jumped five feet into the air.

"Jesus, Mary and freakin' Joseph Stalin, Rains!" yelled 27. "Got no business sneakin' up on normal people like that!"

"Hey Tom, what's the rumpus?" 28 said cheerfully. Under his breath, he was pleading that Thomas was lucid.

"I didn't smell you," Ferrea said matter-of-factly. "Did you use the shower for once?"

Without warning, Rains shot right next to Ferrea, put his hands on either side of her head and sniffed her. One of 27's dice glanced off his head as he pulled back, and promptly stretched back over 28's chair. The constantly nervous choirboy did not even bother to wriggle out from underneath.

"I was putting a sign on the lost property board," said Thomas. "It says, 'Testicles (x2), metaphorical and literal, return to 27'. Aheh."

27 leapt to his feet, a furious red immediately colouring his face. Thomas stuck out his lower jaw and made a mocking imitation of a grin.

"Fuck you! Just fu-!" Anger stopped 27 from finishing the rest of his sentence and propelled him over the table. Bob grabbed the Irish boy before he reached his tormentor, seeking one day where none of them punched each other.

"Problem?" Thomas asked, unflinching.

"Gentlemen," said Ironside.

"SPAH!" Thomas screeched, starting and promptly falling to the floor.

Ferrea made an attempt to hide the cigar case, but the drill sergeant placed his massive hand on her shoulder, making her flinch terribly. 28 began to shake considerably even by his standards, so much so that the table was in danger of moving. The others immediately stopped – even Thomas was silent as he picked himself up from the floor. All had realised that Ironside's sudden arrival in their accommodation meant bad news.

Leisurely, the drill sergeant took the cigar from the table, and opened his palm, motioning to Rains. Sighing, the English boy tossed over a pack of matches that he had hoped would be unnoticed. Ironside lit the cigar in complete threatening silence, and handed it back to his daughter. Ferrea wrinkled her nose at the smoke already rising, but imitated the motions she had seen countless times. She began to splutter, but despite 27's concerns, she continued. Ironside made an amused sound and turned to the rest.

"I hope you're enjoying this lovely hotel," he growled. "But it looks like leave is over. The old men have a problem."

The file slammed down, scattering the dice and making the children jump. Ironside lit his own cigar while Bob hesitantly reached out and opened the papers. Inside were the profiles of several children, complete with images. 27 swore under his breath, and then again out loud.

"Early this morning, Patients 19, 20 and 32 escaped from the complex next door. One doctor was killed, several wounded, and the old men are running around helplessly."

The hotel was located in a failed holiday resort – nearly every other building in a huge radius was abandoned, save the complex, a test lab of sorts where the patient series were indoctrinated. 27 and 28 had come from the labs themselves – Thomas was unofficially Patient 41, but had only been in the complex fleetingly.

"How does this affect us?"

"We're low on manpower here," said Ironside. "The old men want their bodyguards to hold their hands through this, so the five of you are our only method of attack."

Thomas' unsettlingly wide grin became wider and even more unsettling. "I'm starting to like the sound of this. Heheh."

27 secretly echoed his rival's sentiment, but kept his gaze on the files, on the faces he recognised.

"Subject 19 is considered to be the leader," Ironside continued.

"Chemist," 27 said. When he received blank looks, he explained further. "He was great at the poisons and explosive parts of the training. We started calling him Chemist after he poured acid over a still-living target."

"Correct," said Ironside. "However, excelling at chemistry does not make you immune to it."

Ferrea reached over to look at the profile, her eyes widening in horror. Subject 19 was horribly scarred – his face appeared to be folding downwards, like a liquid running over a skull. Bubbles and burns covered large areas, especially around the mouth area, making it look as though the teenager had no skin below the nose.

"Huo Zhenwei," said Ferrea. "An unusual name."

"For an, ah, unusual face," 28 joked weakly.

Ferrea glanced at the files for 20 and 32, but they seemed unremarkable after the shock of the Chemist's profile. Ironside grunted, snapping the children back to attention.

"Your objective is to neutralise the threat. The Voice of Fate will lead the operation."

"What!" Thomas snapped, before remembering whom he was addressing.

"Father, I don't think I could lead such a…"

"You chose to come here," said Ironside. "And it was your choice to mix with them. If this is the path you have chosen, you need to learn how to command."

The end of the girl's cigar burned off, ash falling into her lap. While she panicked and the others bar Rains tried to help her out, Ironside walked from the room. As he disappeared down the corridor, he called back to them.

"Lobby in five minutes."

"We're buggered," said 27.

"We'll be fine," Bob said, although his face told a different story.

"I… don't know how to…" murmured the Voice of Fate.

28 only stopped jittering and shaking when Thomas used the smaller boy's head as an elbow rest. Rains took one look at them all, and burst out laughing.

"Are you guys kidding? Heh. This is going to be _fun_."

* * *

The van inched out of the hotel parking complex, and stopped. Everyone looked vaguely disappointed, but then, it was not as if the escapees were far away. They had just been hoping for some sort of journey. The driver opened the door and ran back into the hotel, frantically diving through various forms of cover as he had been instructed to do. Achingly slowly, the van's back doors creaked open, and 27 surveyed the resort laid out before him.

"They're in the casino," he remarked almost instantly.

"Isn't he great folks? Let's give him a big hand! Heh, he's got enough, give him a pair of boll-!"

Thomas quickly found himself staring down the barrel of a Beretta 92FS.

"One more joke, any more of your awful craic, Rains, and I'll fucken paint the interior of this van."

"Enough," Ferrea said, and then, "What are you wearing?"

Not knowing whom she was addressing, the boys all looked at one another. 27 turned red as he realised she was referring to the untied white scarf around his neck. With the rest of his clothing completely black, he had thought it a great idea, and was now feeling rather insecure. He was about to explain when Rains growled through his extensive restraints.

"Come on, let me out for the ultra-violence now, we're wasting time!"

"We, ah, need to look at this logically," said 28.

"Logic? Here?" Bob said out loud, apparently having realised that he was probably the sanest person present.

Lucy peered around the van doors and looked towards the casino – a building that looked as if it had been built and abandoned in the 1930s. She quickly identified a small light coming from a second story window, the source apparently being a small fire. Ferrea wondered if it had been set for warmth, or as a beacon.

"Did they take any weaponry?" she asked.

28 turned to answer, and as he did, a huge sniper round punched through the van, whistling through and severing the end of his ponytail, before crashing out the other side of the vehicle. The Northern Irish boy shakily reached around the back of head, before everyone dropped to the floor, trying to shield themselves with the person next to them.

"Does that answer your question boss?" Bob said.

"You're getting quite snippy, Bob," Rains observed, still attempting to wriggle free of his cuffs and restraining belts.

"Lucy," 27 said, raising his eyes, "Let me charge out shooting. You'd be able to go around, and I'd die awesomely."

Ferrea steepled her fingers. The sniper had fired what amounted to a warning shot, but had actually fired through the van – perhaps with the hoped of hitting someone. That hope, and the long-range accuracy told her that the sniper was using a mounted rifle, and would be slow to turn or even see a moving target. She closed her eyes and ran the scenario through her head several times.

"Bo, Seven and Eight, get your guns head towards the building. Zig-zag and use cover – this gentleman is no expert. You should reach the casino in no time. I'll keep in contact via comms."

28 reluctantly retrieved his rifle, and 27 drew dual pistols with undisguised glee. Bob clambered slowly, revealing his own choice of weapon – an extremely heavy-looking flamethrower. Casually, he slung the fuel tank over one arm.

"Can you even run with that?" 28 asked incredulously.

"I can sprint with it boss," Bob said happily. "I'm a big target anyway; it doesn't bother me."

"Do I look cool?" 27 muttered to his brother.

"I… Yes?"

"Okay," said Ferrea, rising and leaning against the side of the van. "Spread out, and if possible, get that sniper!"

The three jumped from the van and ran to different sides. The Voice of Fate had been correct about the sniper – panicked shots sounded out upon the instant of the charge, all of them wildly inaccurate. 27 caught a glimpse of a flash of light on the first floor of the casino, the reflection of the scope. The others saw it too – 28 slid into cover and fired his rifle at the source. As if in answer though, the sniper returned fire, this time with greater accuracy, which struck the wall 28 was positioned behind, sending plaster and rubble over his head. 27 thought it possible that the first sniper had switched out with a more experienced person.

"I'll need that rifle," he mumbled.

On the spur of the moment, he burst out from cover, firing his dual pistols as fast as possible. He actually hoped for a moment that the sniper would fire a round straight through him – he might never get a chance for such an excellent death again. Evidently though, the sniper had decided to shield himself from the bullets, and no shot came. Thinking quickly, 27 holstered his pistols – as if called, the flash of light reappeared as the sniper seized his chance.

Sprinting forward, 27 suddenly acted, nearly taking out his brother with a slide-tackle as he snatched the rifle. The momentum took him past the wall, and further across out into the open. The sniper was ready to fire on what he would assume to be an unarmed opponent. As the wall disappeared from 27's vision, he ignored the ground scraping against his back, aimed down the sights of his brother's rifle. The world seemed to slow down, adrenaline coursing through 27's body.

"Oswald was a fag," he said, and fired.

The sound of broken glass was barely audible, but all three Smile Away students heard it. Like a boulder rolling down a hill, there was the initial rumble, and then the reward – a teenager suddenly crashed through the first story window, tumbling down to land with a sickening crack below.

"_Excellent," _came Ferrea's voice. _"Move up."_

Bob was the first to reach the casino, which bewildered everyone who knew anything about the laws of physics. Tranquil, he turned to the open door and blasted the corridor with a powerful surge of flame. Some shouting could be heard from within, but no screaming – the escapees had obviously avoided being burned alive. 27 and 28 pressed themselves on either side of the door, and followed behind Bob as he walked down the corridor, checking every room with a burst of fire.

Without warning however, the flamethrower gave out, and Bob felt himself quickly drenched. Eyes widening, he realised that the fuel had been cut, and was now spraying everywhere. He had little time to act, and more-or-less threw the flamethrower and tank with all his strength into an open room, whereupon an explosion shook the building. Seeking for the source of the severance, he spun round to meet a syringe plunging straight into his neck.

"Bob, you…" 28 began, and slumped forward.

"Fuck!" 27 snapped, and fired his pistols as he turned, but saw Huo below his line of fire, and knew what was coming.

"Don't worry," said a soft Southern voice. "It's only a paralytic – we stole them from the complex. You understand – time is of the essence here."

27 tried to swear, but instead dropped like a stone in water, eyes spinning furiously as he was dragged deeper into the hotel.

* * *

"Seven, Eight, Bob! Report!" Ferrea cried into the communicator.

"They're dead, they've been taxidermised by Chuck Testa. Heh."

"Quiet," Lucy hissed, and then grinned with relief as the communicator crackled to life. "Oh thank…"

"_It's not your friends, before you get your hopes up." _Ferrea thought quickly – Southern, possibly from Georgia. It was Huo.

"Now, is it Mr Huo, or Mr Zhenwei?"

"_It's Mr Huo, but thanks for asking. Now, I have your friends. They won't come to harm. Just come over, and we'll talk."_

"Thank you. I must say, it's nice to meet another civilised individual."

Thomas gagged loudly.

"_I agree – we must keep ourselves above the rabble, no? I'll see you shortly then." _The communicator clicked off.

Ferrea sighed and began to leave the van.

"Hey!" Thomas yelled. "I'm still here! You couldn't fight Helen Keller, you're not going alone!"

Lucy paused, and looked at her rather 'insubordinate subordinate' as she often thought of him. He was straining against his bonds, hair falling into his eyes as he stared up at her almost pleadingly. She walked back over to him, and he suddenly looped his cuffed hands over her head and drew her close.

"We're a team, Voice of Fate. Aheh."

"A team would suggest equality," Ferrea said, countering his move by entering his personal space.

"We seem pretty equal right now. Let me hurt people. We'll go rescue Eight and Bob."

"And Seven."

"Egh. I guess."

Centimetres from Thomas's face, Ferrea suddenly paused, turning red.

"Is this… flirting?"

Thomas looked as confused as she did. "I think we should stop."

"Agreed," Lucy said quickly, and released his restraints and unlocked the cuffs.

The two hopped down from the van and set off at a quick pace. Thomas appeared to be skipping at the prospect of violence. His trench coat had been discarded, revealing a white fencing shirt underneath. When Lucy questioned this, he said that it was so the blood would show up better.

"Mr Huo must have a bigger plan than hostages."

"Who cares?" Thomas said with a shrug. "He's not going to get to start it."

They reached the casino, and Ferrea paused with morbid fascination at the body of the sniper. The round had gone straight through Patient 32's head, which no longer resembled a head in the slightest. Thomas pulled the corpse's arms until it stood upright with his support and jigged the body around like a puppet.

"If you're blue, and you don't know where to go to, why don't you go where fashion sits? Puttin' on the Ritz…"

Ferrea secretly found it quite amusing, but motioned that they had to move on. The casino showed scorch marks nearly everywhere, and one room had been almost completely obliterated due to an explosion. Small flames had begun to spread. The corridor eventually opened up into the main casino floor – crumbling roulette tables and slot machines covered in layers of dust. 27, 28 and Bob were propped against one of the tables – 28 turned his head slowly. The autodidact appeared unfocused – the paralytic was beginning to wear off, but only just.

"They'll be alright," said Huo, watching from an interior balcony. His face looked even worse in person, as if pulled down by some external force. It was hard to tell if he was smiling – his teeth were already exposed.

"Mr Huo, what did you want to talk about?"

Huo nodded and strolled down the stairs towards them. Patient 20 followed behind, a large intimidating boy. Thomas was fidgeting excitedly on the spot, reaching into his pockets for whatever weapon he had.

"Not now," Ferrea said.

"I am, as you may have guessed, wasting time." Huo began. "The compound was the real target – while everyone chases us, they'll miss the explosives."

"Smart," said Ferrea.

"Boring," said Thomas.

Huo ignored his heckler and continued. "You seem smart – do you understand what I'm trying to do? You know what Smile Away is. You know it deserves to die. I'm ending the patient series."

Thomas lurched forward, and Ferrea barely restrained him. Huo chuckled, a gurgling, nauseating sound. He produced something from his jacket – a pocket watch, and addressed Thomas.

"You're so desperate to fight? Here's my proposal. When the music ends, you still feel like it, you go ahead. But while it plays, let me talk."

Thomas nodded slowly, and Ferrea smiled her approval. Huo set the watch down on the table and opened it. A slow, almost chilling melody emanated from the pocket watch, light and ringing. Huo looked at the ceiling and closed his eyes. Ferrea wondered if he could see very well.

"When I think about Smile Away," Huo said. "What needs to be done is-!"

He cried out as Thomas laughed. Patient 19 tremblingly looked down, a mix of horror and outrage on his face. A pair of blunt pliers had been forced into his stomach at such speed that it had cut through as easily as a knife. Huo raised his hand, outstretched towards Rains, spluttering something barely coherent.

"You… said…" The music seemed to grow louder.

"You said," mimicked Thomas in a high-pitched voice. "Your face looks like the inside of a Dalek by the way."

The Chemist groaned and fell sideways, still clutching the pliers embedded in his stomach. Patient 20, too shocked to move, barely showed any reaction as Ferrea put her hands on either side of his head.

"You never listen Thomas!" she said, and snapped Patient 20's neck without even looking.

"Did you hear him go 'ohhhh' like that?" Thomas laughed. "I bet he saw the periodic table circle round his head and fly away."

"Fuckennnnn," came a voice, which told them the paralytic was wearing off on 27.

"Yeah, we'll get to you," Thomas said, admiring the blood on his shirt. "I'll get Eight."

As Thomas moved towards 28 and Ferrea to Bob, Huo suddenly leapt up, sprinting towards 27, likely the only person he could see. Screaming with imprecise wrath, he drew a long knife. 27 raised his hands far too slow to defend himself, and realised he was about to die.

"Not a great way…" 27 said, when a gunshot launched Huo to the side, dead before he hit the floor. 27 looked round in shock.

"Didn't… had to…" said 28. Thomas looked impressed.

The hostages were helped to their feet, and the team left the building, which was beginning to catch fire properly. Looking out at the resort, they saw darkness beginning to fall, stars just visible. The communicator crackled into life.

"_Well done." _Ironside's voice seemed rather disrupted.

"Thank you sir," Ferrea said, bewildered and almost disbelieving.

"_However," _said Ironside, and everyone groaned. _"The old men are complaining about some explosives that detonated inside the compound. They're blaming you, so enjoy staying outside tonight." _With that, the drill sergeant disconnected.

They ended the day sitting in a circle once again, this time lying back and gazing at the stars. 28, who had not spoken for some time, seemed to put his guilt behind him and said conversationally,

"You know, the, ah, time it takes for starlight to reach us, the stars we're looking at could be dead."

"So we're looking into the past?" Thomas said, rolling over.

"I guess."

27 muttered some swear words and went quiet. Ferrea was also fairly quiet as Bob, 28 and Thomas began to ramble, drumming her fingers on her knees. Huo had been right, she thought. In the long run, it had been for the greater good. She decided that she would need to dwell on this further.

* * *

**This is rather long for an update, huh? I didn't want to split it into two parts, that's why. 27's outfit, and general method of attack is a huge reference to Chow Yun-Fat in The Killer – I like to think this whole story is like an over-the-top John Woo sort of thing.**

**Huo Zhenwei seems kind of interesting to me, but I'll be damned if I write about him again – I've already gone off on tangents. His music clock, and his insistence on waiting until the end is a reference to For A Few Dollars More. **

**I quite like the Ferrea and Rains team-up – like an evil mirror of Adyson and Gretchen, with a cold planner and a pop-culture spouting maniac. Thomas' sexuality seems uncertain lot (he is young after all), but I think here it's more-or-less confirmed that he's bisexual.**

**I wanted to include Mr Fox somewhere, but he didn't fit. As usual, it's spot the reference, to multiple things. I wanted to work in a reference to a story on the archive called Carpe Regnum, but again, it didn't fit.  
**

**Anyway, thanks for reading! Next week is Devil In The Gateway Part 2.**


	3. Devil In The Gateway: Part Two

**Hello, kinda thinking of ditching notes at the top here now. So this'll be the last chapter with me up here!  
**

**Devil In The Gateway Part Two – What Are You, _Stupid_? **

* * *

"_Silence, you fool! None can stand before the might of Smile Away!" _cackled the man on the television.

"_One thing can!" _yelled his opponent, a generic-looking man with a buzz cut. _"The…"_

"The power of America!" chorused the teenagers crowded around the television, and cheered their appreciation of the terrible film.

"There's me!" Adyson said excitedly, pointing at someone in the back of the shot.

"How can you tell?" Phineas asked. "That could be any extra."

"Believe me," said Gretchen, perching on the edge of her armchair like a gargoyle, "it's easier to just let her pretend."

"Shut up back there!" Buford snapped, tossing an empty bottle over his head, which Ferb caught before it struck Baljeet.

The film made about their own experiences was offensive on every possible level, and some impossible ones too. Naturally, the citizens of Danville loved it. It was always playing somewhere in the city, where teenagers would attend with their merchandised t-shirts, action figures and echo their favourite bad lines back at the actors. Critics worldwide had loathed it as a deliberate exploitation of genuinely horrific real-life events, and the film had flopped nearly everywhere else (except, for some reason, in Belgium), and this had unfortunately assured that a sequel would never be made.

Adyson's house had provided the holy ground for this particular night's viewing, with all of the 'main characters' – as they now insisted on being called – in attendance. Adyson and Gretchen had managed to argue their way into this group by pointing out that they would have been the main characters of a sequel. Gretchen's attic lair was beginning to get stiflingly hot, but most were too engrossed to care.

"Now for the title sequence!" Isabella squeaked.

Bland rock music blared from the set as expensive looking graphics flashed on-screen, accompanied by the actors' names next to their character.

"Sam Worthington as Captain Flynn!" Everyone cheered simultaneously. "Shia LaBeouf as Charles Fletcher!"

Ferb muttered something into his sleeve, a long rambling sentence that apparently ended with the word 'wankers'. Adyson's grin spread – with each viewing, the travesty was never diminished. If anything, each viewing made the film worse. And thus, in their view, better.

Each person tended to yell their appreciation when their counterpart's name appeared on screen, but the most unanimous cheer was towards the end of the title sequence, when it was announced that 'Thomasin Rains' was being played by Ali Larter. Some had said that, while the movie was playing, if you listened closely, you could hear the real Rains spinning in his grave.

As the casting reflected, the film was not particularly intelligent or well-acted, with the actors bumbling from set-piece to set-piece, running from some frankly rather racist stereotypes. As it approached the midway mark, most of the viewers were completely drunk, and had resorted to weakly proclaiming 'woo' whenever something particularly stupid occurred. Those who did not drink, like Gretchen and Phineas, were soon buffeted about by their increasingly less coherent companions. By the time move actually ended (three and a half hours later) most of the teenagers were no longer paying attention to anything other than the explosions.

People began to trickle out of the attic, one by one disappearing from the house, but Gretchen and Adyson stayed where they were, only rising when Baljeet nearly stepped in Gretchen's bear trap. Fenris padded around, sniffing at the room he had never seen before – Buford had carried him up earlier. The two girls waited patiently for what they called 'The Ferrea Stinger' after the credits - it was a short scene intended to hint at a sequel that would never be made. Onscreen, a mysterious figure, seated in a huge chair, watched the events of the movie, with only her hand visible stroking a small dog. The hand suddenly clenched in anger.

"_I'll get you next time, Danville! Next time." _The shadow proclaimed, and the film ended.

"Think they woulda recast us in a sequel?" Adyson slurred slightly.

"I think they were too cheap for that," Gretchen murmured.

"Managed to cast every single Steve at the Steve convention… least get me decent actress… wait. …Be weird if 'm attracted to person playing me?"

"It would not surprise me if you were," Gretchen replied, checking her phone to see that she had several missed calls from the Detention Centre. "Hurm. Ferrea called several times."

"…should start invest…gating, huh?"

Gretchen shrugged. While the offer had interested her, she was wary of working with Ferrea. Outside of occasional visits, Gretchen was quite happy never seeing Ferrea again. She wondered if helping on this case would lead to Ferrea continuing to contact her and act as if they were friends. A ringtone tone that sounded very much like pop-up warnings on a computer sounded out, and Gretchen sighed. Adyson looked over, concern managing to peer through her giggling fit.

"_Hello moron,"_ said a voice, and Gretchen's shoulders sank.

Adyson could picture the caller now, steepled fingers at a desk, the phone on speaker, smirking with every word said.

"Hi sis," Gretchen said unenthusiastically.

Gretchen's sister had left suddenly one day, on whatever business. Apparently she worked for the government. Gretchen had said that on some occasions, her sister _was_ the government.

"What is it you want?"

Now, Adyson imagined the woman leaning forward, glasses flashing dangerously, reflecting the dull glare of a grey, otherwise unoccupied room with a single table and a single light bulb. The background noise suggested that Gretchen's sister was tapping her foot impatiently, as if even talking to a relative was too much effort.

"_What are you, stupid? Why do think I'm calling, idiot?"_

"I'm not all-knowing, _Jean_."

"_Of course you're not, idiot! God, you're stupid. You didn't even know the Earth went round the Sun until last year!"_

"What is it?" Gretchen hissed through gritted teeth.

"_You know why, you utter retard. You haven't been to see her in a month. Maybe I should pay all this money to put you in a home."_

"All right, fine. I'll go."

"_Of course you will. It's the only thing you're good for. See you around, moron," _came the last words, and the caller disconnected abruptly.

Gretchen stood up from her chair and headed for the door without a second's thought, face almost blank.

"You're going now?" Adyson said, sitting up. "They won't admit you at this time."

"They will. Back later," Gretchen muttered, and disappeared down the ladder.

Adyson, realising that she was now alone, excepting Fenris, decided to begin their investigation. When she actually managed to type the correct things onto the laptop, she ran a search on the simplest thing she could think of – Smile Away fan sites and message boards. She knew that most of them would be filled with angst-filled teenagers looking for a world-view with which to shock their parents, but there was always a chance that she could find a genuine fanatic.

Disturbingly, she stumbled across a site dedicated to 'fan fiction' of people involved in the Smile Away cases. Foolishly, she decided to read a story that paired Ferb and Ferrea, and from there on in, she was stuck. Losing track of time, she trawled through story after story, some of which was pure smut, some of it oddly sweet – she was constantly switching between flattered and horrified.

"I never even met Rains!" she whispered to herself, halfway through a story in which she and the English boy ran off into the sunset together.

Worryingly, quite a lot of the stories seemed to star Rains. Adyson wondered what it was that fan girls saw in psychopaths. Then again, 28 appeared to have his fans, as did Ferb, so perhaps it was the accents more than anything. Isabella seemed to get a lot of hate from the same people for no apparent reason, and most people forgot about Phineas entirely. Adyson resolved to show Gretchen the stories, a slightly malicious grin spreading across her face.

When the phone rang, Adyson instinctively felt dirty, as if someone had walked in on her doing something much worse. Reaching over, she set the phone onto speaker mode and continued reading.

'Hello' was what she tried to say, but she was sober enough to realise that what came out sounded nothing like that.

"_Hello Adyson."_

"Hey Lucy. Bit late to call, huh?" For whatever reason, Adyson was picturing the convict perched on the edge of her bed in exactly the same way Gretchen often did.

"_Mr Dr Braun is working nightshift. I didn't think you'd have anything important going on."_

"Check the tie on my door," Adyson muttered.

"_What?"_

"Nothing."

There was a long pause at the other end, before, _"Is Gretchen there?"_

"Sorry, your girlfriend's out."

"_Where?"_

"Jeez, you're clingy. I bet you two keep pictures of one another under your pillows. Actually, I just read a thing about you two, gimme a moment."

"_I think I'd rather speak to Gretchen, Ms Sweetwater…"_

"Gretchen and Lucy rolled roughly in the meadow," Adyson began to narrate loudly. "Obtaining the upper hand, Gretchen began to move her hand seduc…"

"_Enough!" _Lucy yelled, and then, much quieter, _"Why do you say these things?"_

"It's not me this time Luce. I discovered people writing about us, and god, you should see the weird pairings they thought of!"

"_I think you should pay more attention to the case and... Oh. Is that the 'kink meme'?"_

"I dunno, how the hell do you know?"

"_Someone sent me one of the stories."_

"Any good?"

"_I'm not too good with expressions, but most of it appeared to be 28 and Rains copulating furiously… We're getting off the subject. Where is Gretchen? How far have you got?"_

"We've almost started!" Adyson said cheerfully.

While she could not see Ferrea's face for obvious reasons, Adyson could almost feel the other girl's eyes narrow, palm ready to approach face. Another silence fell in the attic, and in the gap, Adyson noticed that Fenris was sitting attentively to the sound of his former owner's voice, head tilted. She wondered if the dog would attack if Ferrea suddenly commanded it, but rationalised that Ferrea had probably not trained him that way.

"_Adyson," _Ferrea's speech was slowed down, as if she was talking to a very young and stupid child. _"This is quite important to me. To others. People could die."_

"Hey, I said we've almost started, we're still going to do it!"

"_I can pay you."_

"…Seriously?" If she had been a cartoon, Adyson just knew that dollar signs would have appeared in her eyes. "That story about the stash, that's not a myth?"

"_If that's what it takes to get you working, I could tell you where some of it is," _Ferrea's voice was lower, conspiratorial. Much like the website she had discovered, Adyson was instinctively drawn to it. _"Just so long as you don't tell anyone. I don't want anyone picking it up."_

Adyson swallowed nervously, glancing down at Fenris. For a moment, it looked as if the dog was staring right through her. Suddenly, she realised who she was talking to and snapped back to reality.

"I don't need your bribes, Lucy, but you're making me suspicious. Why is this so important to you?"

"_People could die, that's not important enough?"_

"Not for you it's not."

Ferrea made a short wheezing noise. _"Adyson. I don't… I don't know how long I'll last in a real prison. I want people to forget what I did. I don't want this man bringing me back into the public eye. Please."_

"Alright. I'm going to ask for that money one day," said Adyson. "How do you suggest starting?"

Ferrea thought for a moment. _"Look for websites."_

"Did it; got sidetracked."

"_Well then, perhaps you should look for items bought that are specific to the Ludovico treatment. If he's smart though, he'll have bought them over a long period and had them delivered all over the place under different names."_

"And is he smart?"

"_Probably not. Where's Gretchen?"_

"God, you're a broken record. It's private. What's the Ludovico treatment, 'm not as informed as Gretch."

Ferrea coughed again, a louder hacking sound. _"You take a child, strap them to a chair, force their eyes open with matchsticks, inject them with monocane or CRM 114, and show them whatever you want them to have an aversion to."_

"So if you show them, I dunno, cats or something, they'll be afraid of cats?"

"_I suppose. It's meant to be things they would do though. To make them less violent or less creative for example."_

Adyson listened for once in her life and typed Ferrea's information down. Gretchen might actually be pleased for once at her initiative. Of course, considering where Gretchen was, it was highly unlikely that she would be in a particularly good mood when she returned.

* * *

"It's late, dear," murmured the woman, looking blankly out of the window. Tiny white stars were reflected in large pupils.

Gretchen sat on the windowsill beside the woman, taking her hand lightly. The woman's hands were larger, but far more fragile, shaking terribly in Gretchen's extremely faint grip. Cautiously, as if she were afraid of contact, Gretchen moved closer, so that she was just barely leaning against the woman, other hand reaching around in an very nervous hug. Daring to even consider it, Gretchen closed her eyes.

"I know it's late. They still let me in."

"Did you scare them all? You need to learn to be nicer to people."

"I am nice to people. In a manner of speaking."

The woman reached up with a trembling hand and ran it through Gretchen's hair, changed to a pale blue colour in the moonlight. Gretchen initially flinched at the touch, before relaxing slightly.

"You always had such lovely hair." Her voice never rose above a murmur, even when she was agitated. "You're getting so big, Jean. Make me feel old."

Gretchen's shoulders sank with the heart in her chest. She clenched her eyes shut tighter, preventing any tears welling up. She too began, to shake, although it was likely the result of repressing said tears. Instead, she leaned her head in towards the woman, resting it on her shoulder.

"What's wrong?" said the woman, a sense of worry in her murmurs this time.

"…Mom, it's Gretchen, not Jean."

"Oh," said the woman, sad embarrassment evident in her face. She had been reminded of her own condition. "I'm sorry Gretchen. Did you say it was you when you arrived?"

"…'s." Gretchen replied, turning her head into her mother's shoulders.

"I'm really sorry," her mother said, looking around erratically as she always did when she got upset.

"It's not your fault."

The two trembling hands moved to properly embrace the girl, and mother and daughter sat in silence for a long time.

"How's Adyson?"

"She's fine."

"You're old enough to be interested in boys now, hrm? You still see Irving?"

The breath caught in Gretchen's throat, but eventually she choked out that she had seen Irving quite recently.

"I don't think we'd be good together, Mom."

"That's a shame, he's a nice boy. And he likes you Gretchen. Maybe you should give him a chance."

Gretchen buried herself deeper in her mother's arms and gradually began to fall asleep, growing limper. Fingers brushed through her hair again, more comforting than she remembered them being.

"Sh," her mother whispered. "You used to be small… You're so much like your sister…"

Gretchen did not reply – she had already fallen asleep. Several minutes later, her mother bowed her head and joined her, the two of them dormant against the window against the cold night sky.

* * *

**Movie-Ferrea's line at the end of the film is Dr Claw's from the Inspector Gadget cartoons, which is also about the only thing I can remember from those cartoons. All the people starring in the film are indeed terrible actors. Believe me, if you hear about them appearing in something, run in the opposite direction. Quickly.**

**Gretchen's sister's description 'on some occasions she is the government' is a paraphrase of Sherlock Holmes' description of his smarter elder brother Mycroft. Like Mycroft, Jean is also a lazy jerkass. It also shines a light on why Gretchen constantly tries to appear intellectually superior – her sister constantly makes her feel like an idiot.**

**The Ludovico treatment is, as always, A Clockwork Orange reference, as was its brief appearance in the actual show. I know this was quite short, but there's not really another way to break this story up, and hey, I have to wind down after last week's big gunfights and ultra-violence.**

**I don't have much else to say here, see you next week for a Doofenshmirtz-and-Roger-related story set in Gimmelschtump. Adieu!**


	4. Heinz und Roger

**Heinz und Roger**

* * *

The rocks allowed the waves to shape them, eroding with the ever-present crashing sound of the water. In this place, the rocks seemed to decay rapidly, and not at all, as if they existed in both states at the same time. Rabbits moved on the sparse greenery atop the cliffs, taking advantage of the apparently perpetual dusk, their tiny calls inaudible over the cacophony of the sea. The dim yellow light grew duller, like the dying embers of a cigar, and barely illuminated the path for the figure travelling across the rocky outcrop.

Not that she needed the light of course.

The kelpie did not react in the slightest as the waves repeatedly assaulted her, never losing her balance on each slippery foothold. At one point she purposefully disappeared under the shallow, scree-filled pool, and appeared again several metres away, clambering up the cliff-face in the manner of a monitor lizard. Panicking, gulls shot out of their nests, but she paid them as little attention as she had the waves, and suddenly burrowed through a miniscule opening in the cliff, gone from sight.

Seal-like, she fell on to her belly and only pulled herself up when the tunnel opened into a wide cavern, more brightly lit than the outside world.

"Where have ye been?" called out a middle-aged woman, stepping out from behind a cooking fire.

"Killing swine," the kelpie said matter-of-factly.

"That's a lie," crowed a second voice from the dark. "Ah knew it would be. Ah knew where you were going too… ah've firgotten."

"I know where you _are_," the middle-aged woman said with a little disappointment. "And ah knew what you were doing when you were there. Now ah've firgotten."

The kelpie grinned, although in technical terms it was far more like a wildcat revealing its teeth mid-snarl. She padded across the cold floor, freezing cave water running under bare feet, and paused at the cooking pot, sniffing.

"Bats?"

"No fir eating," said the voice from the dark. "Cooking fir a guest."

"No _that_ guest," the kelpie complained. "Ah spent hours on that heath, and not once did such a man appear."

"When was that?" asked the middle-aged woman.

"Hecate Almighty," muttered the kelpie, before chuckling. "Ye have such terrible memories, all of ye."

"It's no oor job tae remember the past. Why don't you tell us something yet to come?"

"Or is happenin' right now?"

The kelpie snorted arrogantly, running her hand along the dim unnatural surface of the cave walls. Pausing, she snapped off one of the gently humming violet crystals and turned it over thrice in her hand.

"Mind the man and the machine?" said the kelpie. "Past, present, future, it's all a matter of perspective."

"Paradoxes, anomalies," agreed the voice in the dark. "Phineastein's damage wis widespread."

"Exactly," murmured the kelpie, opening the cooking pot. She emptied whatever was in it and replaced it with the crystal. "All perspective."

The boiling water made an alien noise, a hissing squeal, and speedily changed colours to a faint lavender. The kelpie smiled and motioned her hand over the surface, calming the tempestuous water instantly. All three were suddenly round the pot, girl, mother and crone, looking down into the images.

"So this story," said the kelpie, "is past, present and future. Whit's past is prologue, includin' us."

"Heh," cackled the old woman. "A location most appropriate."

"Are you sitting comfortably? Good. Then we'll begin."

* * *

Heinz Doofenshmirtz was wearing a dress. Today, it was a light blue summer dress, a very pretty piece of attire, and would have been perfect had it not been for two simple facts: Heinz was a boy, and it was winter in Gimmelschtump. As he sat shivering on the porch, he grumbled to himself and swore this would become little more than behaviour-justifying back story someday.

"They're going to find me as a snowman," he complained to the snow, which was blowing into his face and slowly burying him.

Eventually, there came the heavenly sound of people approaching (people, thought Heinz bitterly, who were dressed appropriately), and he shook the pile of snow from his hair. Mrs Doofenshmirtz promptly stepped onto the porch and dumped a heavy basket onto her eldest son's head, replacing the snow.

"Hello mother," sighed Heinz. "Where am I taking it?"

"Eseldorf," his mother replied sharply, looking down her nose.

Eseldorf was two miles from Gimmelschtump, which would have been fine if those two miles had not consisted of deep forest that, at this time of year, increasingly resembled the back of a titanic polar bear. On top of that, Heinz had seen the ruined castle within the forest from his house, and the place terrified him. Over the years, it had apparently housed numerous torturers and less than reputable scientists, and Heinz could have sworn he'd seen lights shining from high windows more than once.

"Esseldorf it is mother," he answered, despite having thought of all of this.

"…wanna go too," came a muffled voice, and a head appeared over Mrs Doofenshmirtz' shoulder. "Go to Eseldorf…"

"Of course you can Roger," said his mother, her harsh tone warped by the horrors of 'baby-talk'.

Roger smiled happily in response and detached from his mother's back and onto his brother's in one fluid movement. Heinz thought his brother acted like some sort of hideous koala bear sometimes.

"Now you take good care of Roger, Heinz," Mrs Doofenshmirtz snapped, with rather too much venom surrounding the latter name.

"Yes mother."

"You make sure he doesn't get lost."

"Yes mother."

"And you carry him, make sure he doesn't get tired."

"Yes mother.

"He's sleepy, just had his immunisations."

"Yes, m-! Wait, I never got any immunisations!"

Mrs Doofenshmirtz momentarily fumbled with her keys at the lock, scraping metal on metal. She glanced over her shoulder with disdain.

"Immunisations are bad for you."

"Then why did Roger get the-!"

"Eseldorf." The door slammed behind her, and the rest of her words were muffled.

"The doctor put a needle in my arm," said Roger, picking his nose. "And he said to say hi to my big sister, but I said I don't have one, and he said you were a big girl's blouse, and I said…"

"We're going," Heinz said loudly.

"I don't think you're a big girl's blouse."

"I'm _wearing _a big girl's blouse," Heinz growled at the favourite child.

Roger laughed and held onto his brother's ear with a small fat hand, slowly watching the town of Gimmelschtump from the comfort of his living vehicle. It was rather like an automobile, in that Heinz also made grumbling sounds as he trundled down an off-road path. Not that there were many automobiles in Gimmelschtump. And any glimpsed were usually Soviet in origin, and therefore about as useful as throat-soothers at the gallows.

"What we d'livering?" Roger asked.

"Cheese," said Heinz, followed by a sarcastic, "Hooray!"

The thin path petered out into a trail, about as wide as a bicycle tire, the rest of the path having been eclipsed by snow. Heinz groaned, suspecting that it would hardly be the last time he did so today, and stepped into the forest. Roger occasionally pulled at his brother's hair absent-mindedly and chattered nonsensically, and Heinz seldom replied, more concerned with how his legs were completely numb with cold. Stumbling forward slightly, Heinz grumbled in frustration and kicked a snow-covered rock into view. At least he wouldn't trip over it on the way back.

After walking for nearly an hour and a half, Heinz began to question his journey. In an hour and a half, he should have easily reached Eseldorf, and even if the snow was heavy, the village should at least have been in sight by now. He stopped at a crossroad of sorts and looked around – early winter night had set in quicker than he had realised. Turning, his foot slipped in concealed ice, and boy, brother and basket landed in the wet snow with a muffled thump. Roger flailed slightly under Heinz before managing to wriggle out like an insect from under a rock. The younger boy childishly drew back from the trees, stretching black shadows outlined in snow.

"What happened?" He had apparently been asleep before Heinz' slapstick act had begun.

"Nothing," Heinz said, shooting up immediately as snow began to seep through his dress. One day, someone else was going to be forced to wear them, he thought bitterly.

"That's not what happened," said a voice, and both boys looked around in panic.

There had been no sound of snow crunching underfoot, but the man had somehow walked right up to them unnoticed. Roger, apparently grabbed by the ridiculous notion that the man might be a cheese-thief, seized the basket tightly and eyed him warily. Heinz took another look around – assessing any direction in which they might suddenly need to run.

"Have you been lost for long?"

"We're lost?" Roger squeaked.

"We're not lost, we're… misplaced?"

The man dragged his feet through the snow, and Heinz watched him closely – the newcomer was, on the whole, completely unremarkable, to the extent that his blandness reached a paradoxically unique state. As soon as the word bland came into Heinz' mind, it stuck to the man as if it were desperate.

"It's cold," said Bland. "And wet. Bad time to be lost."

"But not for you?" Heinz caught himself before he called the man 'Bland' to his face.

Bland scratched his nose, dead skin flaking off into the snow. Nothing he did was anything other than lethargic, and when he began to open his mouth to speak again, Heinz actually found himself annoyed.

"I'm not lost. I can get you out of here, if you like."

Roger had grown impatient with the man's speech, and began to swing the basket for his own amusement. At the sudden flash of brown fur behind a tree, he crept off in pursuit of a rabbit, hoping to surprise it.

"Yeah, if you could just point us in the right direction," Heinz said, mentally adding 'Mr Blandy the Boringness'.

"I need something to get you out of here," said Bland, stepping forward, his hand reaching out. His hands were red with some sort of rash.

"Okaaaay," Heinz said, immediately stepping out of Bland's reach. He knew that he would have to burst suddenly into a sprint. The shivers were not induced by cold. "Roger…"

There was no answer. Heinz swivelled round quickly, eyes already wide with panic. He stumbled off the marginal trail into the heavy snow, twisting and ducking under branches, breathing increasingly erratic.

"Roger! Roger!"

Eventually, Heinz came to the terrifying realisation that Roger was gone. And perhaps worse, so was the man.

* * *

Roger crawled softly in the undergrowth, tracking his leporine prey with a youthful determination. He suddenly found his movement impeded however, and had to remove the basket from the tree, where it had apparently lodged itself. It was at this point that he began to hear voices, and impossibly, an engine, running through the impenetrable white forest. Curiously, he sat up and edged his way out of the foliage.

There was a road that had almost certainly not been there before, a smooth, advanced black streak. Yet to Roger, it did not appear entirely real – he could barely articulate the thought, but it felt as if the road was caught somewhere between existing and being a mere projected image. He reached out to touch it, but recoiled as the engine drew closer.

"_Here, Dieter. Think I saw a rabbit."_

An antique car was rolling towards Roger, and he shrank back into the foliage as it drew leisurely to a halt. Two men stepped out, stern military men by Roger's estimation. They did not look like Soviets though – their uniform was brown, and the red armband was not something Roger had seen on any soldier before. Like the road, Roger did not fully believe that the men were present.

"_This a fairy?" _said one of the men. His voice sounded distant, as if he were speaking through a radio.

"_Social Democrat." _The other grunted, whipping a sheet from the back of the car. Suddenly, he pulled a previously unseen, whimpering man from the car.

"_They weren't mine, they were just posters…"_

The two brown shirts paused momentarily, before viciously attacking the man with brutal kicks and stomps, interchangeably snarling and laughing. The victim was weakly raising his arms, black boots crushing them down time after time. Roger involuntarily cried out on horror, stumbling back in the snow. The brown shirts looked up, and one narrowed his eyes.

"_Fine with Communists, but if we're caught beating up Scheidemann's spawn, we're dead."_

"_That's crap, Hindenburg would sign our pardons if someone told him."_

"_Can't take that chance."_

The speaker reached to his belt and drew a blade, and with a feral expression, plunged it into the Social Democrat's chest repeatedly. As the victim lay groaning, the two storm troopers walked towards where Roger was standing. The boy cowered, closing his eyes as the bush was roughly pushed aside.

"_There's no one here."_

Incredulously, Roger cranked open one eyelid. The two men were standing directly over him, looking straight through him. Once again, they seemed like mere projections on a screen.

"They can't see you," said the man from before. His face was red from scratching.

"What's going on?" Roger whispered, glad to see even a remotely familiar face.

"Some things happened here. Lots of things happen in Gimmelschtump. They can't hurt you. Not right now, anyway."

"Where's Heinz?"

"I can get you out of this forest."

Roger blinked. "How?"

The man leaned forward, reaching out. His hand paused nearly an inch from the boy's face. "I need you to give me something first."

"What?" asked Roger, suddenly frightened again.

"Just say okay, and I'll get you out of here."

"I n-need to know what I have to g-give," Roger was suddenly aware of the cold.

"Just agree." It was very cold, very quickly.

Roger ran, and the brown shirts reacted as if a current had suddenly run through them.

"_There he goes! Dieter, catch him!"_

* * *

Heinz felt like he was walking automatically. Numbly, he trudged through the trees, his cries for his brother sounding increasingly disembodied. It was only when he approached the ruined castle that he became aware of his surroundings, like a bucket of cold water rushing down on his head.

"Roger," his throat felt sore. He could never return home without his brother. All concern about reaching Eseldorf had been replaced by concern for his sibling.

Presently, he became aware of some faint movements in his peripheral vision, and turned his gaze towards the castle. Flickering and distorted like an early film, Heinz managed to identify people marching up a path he knew no longer existed. They were silent, disappearing and reappearing along the path.

"There should be some sort of machine that makes things clearer," he mumbled nonsensically. "An inator, perhaps? Roger! You up there?"

In an instant, all was dark – the people, the broken images, disappeared without warning, and Heinz felt himself get even colder, which he had thought impossible. And slowly, like the flame coming to life on a candle, new images appeared.

A pale thin man with a shock of red hair was walking up the path towards the castle, accompanied by a darker, taller woman with flowing black hair. Sensing an emotion he had never felt before, Heinz followed, mesmerised.

"It doesn't end well," Bland said.

Heinz was somehow not surprised at the man's sudden appearance. "What do you want?" He did not even bother to look round.

The couple vanished briefly, and when they reappeared further up the nonexistent path, there had obviously been a large time lapse – the man looked tired, and the woman was sporting a rather prominent belly.

"I need you to give me something," said Bland, but this time he sounded desperate.

Heinz stepped after the couple, conscious that he was evading Bland's reach. The couple hugged, but it was awkward, and she looked sad. Heinz peered, but they had already begun to fade away, and a new image was flashing, cutting into the previous one, an emerging signal – she was on the ground, in the snow, a huge man towering above, blood on snow, red on white, pregnant, Heinz felt sick, blood, snow…

Heinz threw up and doubled over after, coughing and spluttering, cold sweat running down his forehead.

"I can make them stop… Get you out of here… Give me…"

Heinz turned to look at Bland finally, and nearly screamed. The dead skin and the slight rash had expanded and evolved into something much more serious. Flaps of pale skin hung from dark red muscle and pale white bone. Both eyes remained in their sockets, but one was rotting, flies buzzing over it. Heinz gagged as one of the insects rolled under an eyelid, visible as a rise in Bland's flesh. Scraps of flesh landed gently on the ground.

"Can only remain so long. Give me, and I'll let you out. Or…"

"Heinz!"

As if a magician had clapped his hands, when Heinz blinked, Bland was gone and Roger was rushing towards him, tears streaming down his face. The brothers embraced feverishly, and Roger was crying out something incoherent.

"What is it, what…"

"…lost the basket!" Roger wailed.

If he hadn't been so frightened, Heinz would have burst out laughing. Instead, he grabbed Roger and flung him roughly onto his back, and with what little energy remains, dashed through the forest, directionless but determined. Cracking branches behind him, ones that had whipped and scratched at his face, told him that something was coming behind them. The images were gone, leaving nothing but the monochrome mass of the forest.

"Heinz, go faster!" Roger was yelling, or perhaps something else.

"Must go faster," Heinz' muttered words became a mantra. "Must go faster."

What looked like their trail came up ahead, but it shimmered slightly like the projections before it, and both ways were overgrown with thorn bushes, long twisting branches that looked as if they were decades old. Heinz panicked, eyes darting from one direction to the next, with Roger's screaming and the pursuer's crashing becoming deafeningly loud. Like in a nightmare, he found his running impaired, as if he had forgotten how, and he fell onto the path, a sharp pain searing into the side of his face.

"Get up, Heinz, Heinz!" Roger screamed frantically.

Heinz reached for his own face… and scraped his knuckles on something. With a crazed grin, he recognised it as the rock he had stumbled over when entering the woods.

"That way!" Heinz yelled, leaping to his feet and careening towards the thorn bushes.

At first, the razor-sharp thorns cut at their faces and limbs, but as Heinz desperately pushed on, their tormentors disappeared, seemingly trampled underfoot. Something reached out behind them, something that pervaded a rotting aura, something trying to grab Roger's face.

"Give me…"

Sunlight burst through the thorns and the brothers tumbled out into the winter daylight of Gimmelschtump, exhausted and relieved. Roger looked back behind them to see nothing but the trail they had originally started upon, stretching on and on.

"But… it was night," Heinz said.

"Not going back," said Roger. "Not going to Eseldorf."

"Me neither," said Heinz, gazing up at the crumbling castle in the distance. "I don't care what the punishment is."

That was how they were found, shivering and tearful on the edge of the forest, babbling confusedly and generally baffling any adults who tried to interpret the truth. The Doofenshmirtz elders were less confused however – they simply blamed Heinz for everything and thought of more humiliating punishments.

The week after, a local boy went into the forest. He did not come back.

"_See? All perspective. Ah told ye, didn't ah?"_

* * *

…**I'm not entirely sure what's going on either, but I enjoyed writing it. I think I'll cut down on explaining references though, because I like seeing people guess. Although, given my usual standards, getting them all would take up pages. This chapter's fairly light though.**

**I remember at the start of Tempus Fugit I explicitly stated I was avoiding WW2 as a setting because it was clichéd, and I still sort of agree. The SA men (ghosts?) who appear date this roughly around 1933, early 1934. (Scheidemann was the man who declared Germany a republic after WW1, but he was not leader of the Social Democrats for long – the Nazi is being general. Because he's a Nazi.) The reason for their appearance was because I didn't want to use any other Gimmelschtump characters.**

**I don't know what the thing in the forest is, or at least, I haven't made up my mind. Guess, if you like. Thanks for reading, see you all next week for Devil In The Gateway.**


	5. Devil In The Gateway: Part Three

**Devil In The Gateway Part Three - Zodiac**

* * *

"Oh Peggy Gordon, you are my darling… Come sit you down upon my knee… and tell to me the very reason… why I am slighted so by thee…"

It was early in the morning when Braun arrived at work, which was impressively dedicated, given that he had only left work in the wee hours of that same morning. Blearily, he made his way around the corridors, fumbling with his change at the coffee machine, absent-mindedly taking office stationery he might need, barely managing to grab his own clipboard from the wall. It took several moments of him staring at it blankly to recognise the photograph marking the board as his – a family of three smiling at the Grand Canyon.

"I wish I was in some lonesome valley… where womankind could not be found… and the pretty little birds… do change their voices… and every moment, a different sound…"

A security guard, a thin rat-like man nodded his greetings and smiled with coffee-stained teeth, sliding the doors open into the female ward. Braun did not entirely like the other man, who had always seemed rather too light-fingered to be trustworthy. It was unlikely the security guard would remain long however – Braun doubted that the higher-ups would tolerate him for long.

"Oh Peggy Gordon, you are my darling… Come sit you down upon my knee… and tell to me the very reason… why I am slighted so by thee…"

The corridor seemed longer to him, and he felt the coughing fit reach out towards him down the stretched hallway. Leaning on the wall for support, he cast up harsh barks of coughs, thick phlegm nauseatingly audible. The security guard came to his side rather quickly, picking up the clipboard and helping Braun back to his feet. Wiping his mouth with his coat sleeve, Braun ignored the red stains and approached the cell door.

"I wish I was away in Ingo… far across the briny sea… sailing over deepest waters… where love nor care never trouble me."

"Could shame a nightingale, Ms Ferrea," he said as he entered and sat in the pastiche of a porch provided.

"Thank you, Mr Dr Braun," Lucy said with a smile. "Was that you outside?"

"Unfortunately."

"My sympathies."

"Lucy, I've been your doctor for a while now. We both know you don't care whether I live or die."

Lucy giggled childishly. "I care very much whether you live or die."

Braun smiled, and looked at his notes from the previous session. "Irish? Your song."

"I think so," Ferrea lounged back onto her bed, looking up at the ceiling. "28 – Simon – used to sing it."

"Speaking of past acquaintances, are you following Gretchen's little case?"

"It's not a little case!" Had it not been Lucy Ferrea speaking, Braun would have considered it a snarl. When her eyes opened again though, she had returned to her usual contented tone. "It's a big case. It's funny… I didn't have to involve them at all, did I? I just wanted to."

"Maybe you consider them friends? Is that so far-fetched?"

"No… no I had friends before, ones I didn't like making squirm as much as Gretchen. I do like her though. Sometimes I'd like to kill her of course."

"Considering your injuries and your interactions, it's probably natural, and mutual."

Ferrea suddenly sat up at a rigid angle, rotating her head towards Braun as if she were an owl. She had realised what he had said, and he could see her processing it – calculating the consequences were Gretchen ever to gain access to the cell. Almost as soon as she had moved, she flopped backwards again, red hair rising and falling comically.

"I hear you've been talking to the other patients," Braun said, voice serious.

"I just told them the truth."

"Truth?"

"That as repeat offenders, they're unlikely to have a 'normal' life, they may as well get used to their future as being in and out of prison."

"We strive to make everyone here better Lucy, not just you."

Silence passed between them for a time, with Braun noting the conversation down, and Ferrea staring up at the ceiling contentedly for some unfathomable reason.

"How bad is it?"

Braun shrugged. "I'm not that type of doctor. I can feel it though, like another heartbeat in my lung. Anyway, you're obviously happier today. Is it due to the case?"

Ferrea nodded, her lazy smile splitting into a grin. Eerily, Braun noticed that it seemed to mirror Rains' portrait on the wall. It looked as though both were likely to fade out, leaving nothing but disembodied grins.

"This is the most fun we've had in a long time," she said. "I think they're looking up the Ludovico treatment now. I remember kids getting shoved into that machine. 'Creative acts are imitable and dangerous'. The music was usually Ode to Joy. Do you like it?"

"Like what?"

"Ode to Joy," Ferrea said, and hummed it loudly. "I think it represents the greatest achievement of human culture. Don't you agree?"

"I suppose so," said Braun. "It's probably time for you to head into the Rec Room."

Ferrea stood up, almost hovering her way out from her cell, humming 'Ode to Joy' the entire way.

* * *

Adyson's driving was somewhat substandard, in that they narrowly avoided crashing through the wall of a coffee shop every five minutes, which was actually impressive, given that Danville only had two coffee shops. Gretchen had become used to it, barely flinching as she was repeatedly buffeted in her seat, head occasionally hitting the car roof.

With a screech, the car nearly rolled over on itself before pulling into a suburban street and grating into a tiny parking space. The occupants shook as the airborne wheels thudded back to earth. The door opened and Gretchen nearly fell out, crawling along the warm road like a lifeline.

"Hey Gretch, you don't look so good…"

As soon as he left the car, Fenris promptly threw up. Adyson looked faintly amused by the entire ordeal. Gretchen shot up suddenly, realising how undignified her actions looked, and wiped grit from her clothes.

"I'll deal with this," she said, "because I'm good at stalking and investigating…"

"And I'll deal with the kidnap victim," said Adyson, "because I actually like people."

"Excellent," said Gretchen. "Hurry up now, I don't want to remain in the open for too long."

Adyson drummed her fingers on the steering wheel, clearly working up the courage to speak her mind. Gretchen pushed her glasses up impatiently.

"Look, Gretchen, you've been kinda grump lately. More than usual. Like 'your old self' kinda grumpy."

"So?"

"I don't… I don't think this is good for you. I know you love investigating things, but this one… it just seems like it affects you too personally. I know you think I'm stupid, but if you leave most of it to me…"

"You're not stupid. I'm fine, just leave it."

"Acting like this, Gretch, you might miss something. Something important, and I don't want you to…"

"Just hurry up and talk to that kidnap victim," Gretchen snapped.

Adyson sighed a little, inaudible over the sound of the engine starting back up, and exploded across the road, her dark blue car streaking across the landscape at speeds previously thought impossible. Gretchen turned to Fenris and motioned for them to slink into a pleasantly decorated pathway between to gardens, wooden fences hiding them from view.

"Arthur Leigh Guillam," Gretchen said aloud, crouching down beside the dog. "Unmarried, occupation currently unknown because Adyson always forgets these things, but recently borrowed several Smile Away related books from the local library. Has had several deliveries in the last few weeks, heavy machinery." Without changing tone, she remembered the rest of the report. "Worked as an elementary teacher. Fired for inappropriate conduct, never convicted. Unpleasant, 'rodent-like' according to other workers. Changes jobs frequently, hence Adyson's forgetfulness. House paid for by parents, who apparently have no problem with their son being a probable sex offender."

Gretchen took a deep breath and patted Fenris on the head, her glasses flashing ominously.

"Car not in drive. Conclusion: not home, but curtains and windows open. Over-confident, careless. Stupid. Hurm."

Footsteps heralded the next stage of Gretchen's plan.

"Hey Gretchen!" Phineas Flynn called, waving as he walked towards her. "Very espionage, why are we meeting here?"

"I just happened to be nearby. Did Ferb give it to you?"

"Yup," Phineas said cheerfully, drawing a small box from the pocket of his jeans. He shielded his eyes from the glaring summer sun before leaning back into the shade. "Why would you need this anyway?"

"Ask no questions," said Gretchen, "and you'll be told no lies."

"If you told me, would you have to kill me?" Phineas said, beaming. "Just don't go robbing a bank or anything, I don't feel like ending up in court."

"I'm in court every other week or so for the things Adyson does. It's like a second home."

"Haha. Hey Fenris, how you doing? Do you know where Perry is? Do you? Who's a good boy?"

Gretchen tolerated the boy's presence, aware that he would be busy as always, and likely on his way shortly. After what seemed like an age, Phineas straightened up from petting the excitable Labrador.

"Well, see you later Gretchen. Try not to break into that bank then!" He left chuckling, heading towards some massive construction in the distance.

Humming Beethoven's Ode to Joy quietly, Gretchen slipped under the fence into the front yard of the Guillam house. Aware that such activity might draw suspicion, she decided instead to approach the door via the path like a regular person. The lock was easily bypassed by her usual Fireside training, giving way with an extremely satisfying click. She reached into the box Phineas had given her and drew the strange, screwdriver-like contraption from its case.

"I'm not breaking into a bank at least."

She stepped inside to the strains of the alarm system warnings, casually aimed the invention at the alarm and pressed a button. A short ring was let out by Ferb's invention, and Guillam's alarm system was immediately silenced.

"Hurm," said Gretchen. "I'm keeping this."

The house was sparsely furnished and cold, worsened by the noise of tiny running feet and squeaking coming from several cages along the mantelpiece. With distaste, Gretchen realised that they were not mice or hamsters, as she would have guessed, but grey squirrels, chewing at their bars and running on wheels too small for them. Fenris had to be restrained from jumping up at the rodents.

In a way, the house reminded her of Fox's lair – she continually felt as if she was mere feet from extreme horror or danger, but nothing presented itself. It was a rather small house, and Guillam's room was on the first floor, door closed. Fenris sniffed and pawed at it until Gretchen allowed him entrance.

An ugly unmade bed greeted them, the floor strewn with dirty socks and underwear and magazines fronted by people in very little clothing. In other words, it was supremely adolescent, aside from the odd absence of any sort of computer. Fenris had to be forced from the room when he growled and stuffed his nose into a pile of underwear.

They moved from room to room, with nothing else to report, although Gretchen knew that even if Guillam was innocent, she would not lose any sleep over breaking into his house. On a last resort, they descended down the stairs to the basement.

"Not a lot of basements in Danville," Gretchen muttered to herself.

The lock proudly announced itself of the 'Gorgonian' variety. Gretchen picked it with ease and fumbled around for a light switch. As the darkness scattered, Gretchen widened her eyes. Rows of shelves covered the basement, every one taken up by a box of used film reel, marked with dates and numbers. She moved down the aisle and selected one at random.

"He's old-fashioned, evidently. If we can find the projector…"

Fenris wandered among the shelves until he reached a desk at the end, where he sat perfectly still until he gained Gretchen's attention. She approached cautiously.

"Ah. A writing desk, Fenris. If we can find an example of his handwriting, we can match it to…"

Her cell phone rand and she nearly jumped through the roof in surprise. Fenris flinched too, almost running around in circles trying to locate the source of the interruption.

"Hello?"

"_Gretchen, it's Braun. You'd better come down…"_

* * *

Adyson pulled up in front of the Jeffville apartment building, although 'pulled up' was generally more applicable to gently stopping the vehicle by the sidewalk. The only similarity between this and Adyson's parking was that Adyson had indeed stopped. The gathering of teenagers outside the building allowed her to see her target. She purposefully appeared directly behind him, frightening him when she tapped his shoulder.

"Hey, it's Rory, right? Can I talk to you for a moment?"

The boy was about thirteen, surrounded by friends and facing an older girl, so naturally, he turned very red, very quickly. Adyson deliberately kept her hand on his shoulder for a little too long before dropping it to her side.

"What, w-what's it about?" The boy finally managed.

"You're famous, aren't you?" Adyson grinned, consciously dialling her usual personality down.

"Uh, I guess." Rory stepped away from his friends, and walked several feet with Adyson, doing his best to ignore the loud mocking that followed him.

Someone's television was blaring loudly from an open window.

"So, I just wanted to ask you," said Adyson, staying close to the boy, "you get a look at the person who got you? I know you don't remember much, but there's this creepy guy near me that I got a bad feeling about."

Rory thought hard, obviously trying to impress her. Sheepishly, he gave up and shook his head. "Sorry, I can hardly remember anything. I woke up between Jeffville and Danville, took me a while to get home."

"Why'd it take so long?"

"_Alleline – Tinker."_

Here the boy turned very red indeed, aware of how childish he was about to sound. "I woke up on the other side of the woods…"

"So?"

"So those woods are goddamn creepy, whatever that sonovabitch police chief says."

"_Haydon – Tailor."_

"Nah, I get it," said Adyson. "Besides, you could have been lost in there for longer. I've heard those missing kid rumours too."

Rory grinned, swelling at the perceived compliment from a pretty girl. He raised an arm to run a hand through his hair and Adyson briefly glimpsed more than one puncture mark on the pale skin.

"_Bland – Soldier."_

"Look, I'm real sorry, uh…"

"Isabella," Adyson said, aware that her real name was quite well-known.

"Sorry Isabella, but I really don't know what happened."

"_Esterhase – Poor Man."_

Adyson shrugged gently, then as if the thought had just occurred to her, "What were you doing before your memory went out?"

Rory did not meet her gaze.

"Uh, you know, going around with those guys. I ended up on my own somehow, and then next thing I knew, you know?"

"_Everything the Circus thinks is gold is shit, made in Moscow."_

Adyson flicked her gaze to the side, watching the other teenagers from the corner of her eye. As suspected, some of them had matching puncture marks on their arms. A dead end that Gretchen would most certainly yell about. She clapped Rory on the shoulder.

"Ah well, it was worth a try. I'll be off now, you can go back to your friends." As she began to walk away, she leaned in close. "Hey, look me up sometime, huh?"

The boy choked out something barely coherent and wandered back to his cheering friends. He would be too flustered to properly remember any of the questions that Adyson had asked him. As soon as she got in the car and drove off, Gretchen appeared on her incoming calls.

"Jawohl, mein Fuhrer?"

"_You find anything?" _Gretchen sounded as if she was in a hurry.

"The kid's a dead end Gretch," Adyson said. "His whole group are monocane users anyway, it'd be impossible to tell if the perp gave him any."

"_Damn it. I couldn't find anything conclusive in Guillam's house either, but we had to leave in a hurry."_

"He came home?"

"_No, Braun called. Pick me up, we're going to Povenmire-Marsh."_

"Why, what happened?"

"_There's been another letter. And it looks like our boy has stepped up."_

* * *

**So as usual, thanks for reading! I understand you were probably confused by last week, as was more-or-less intended. If it clears things up a little, look up a German story called Erlkonig, which could easily be applied to Heinz and Roger's bizarre experience.**

**I've not actually got much to say here for once. Ferrea is indeed singing something that 28 sang before, Peggy Gordon. It was best used in The Proposition, an excellent film which everyone should hunt down, but I digress. Well actually, the soundtrack for that film was on while I wrote this, so maybe it's not a full digression. Although Baker Street by Gerry Rafferty is always what I think of when Adyson and Gretchen appear these days.**

**Yes, Gretchen did indeed just break into a potentially dangerous person's house for little reason. She is slightly unorthodox.  
**

**In a Holmes reference, I did want to have Gretchen shoot initials into her bedroom wall out of boredom, but there wasn't a place for it. It would have been GS though, for George Smiley.**

**Anyway, see you all next time.**


	6. The Psychopath Test

**The Psychopath Test**

* * *

_Note to self: organise these. In fact, they're on the computer, why do I need printed copies? All out of date anyway._

_Doctor S. Braun, drawer seven: 'Smile Away incident' patients. I have tried to attend to the children most involved in the incident, and have compiled them as such. NB: One child, Phineas Flynn, has refused treatment offered – this may be a cause for concern, but nothing can be done. Mr Flynn must attend when he feels he is ready._

Name: Garcia-Shapiro, Isabella

_Initial notes: _The events of the 'Smile Away coup', as she has referred to it, do not appear to have had a dramatic effect on the patient's well-being, but this does not necessarily mean some therapy is unneeded. During the incident, the subject played a central role in the resistance against the terrorists, and far surpassed any suspected capabilities of such a young girl. Some mental strain is expected.

_Interview: _As suspected, patient appears to be unaffected notably by incident. Conversational and non-hostile. Of note however – she has a strong romantic attachment to Phineas Flynn that borders on obsession. However, considering the stress placed on her and Flynn, this may simply be a protective instinct – from reports, this would appear to have some evidence. Mention of her romantic feelings results in a somewhat frosty reception, yet her constant hints at said feelings contradict such a response. Patient does not actually seem to be aware of the glaring obviousness of her crush, which may require some examination. _Amendment – patient is a young girl. Crushes never need be realistic to a child._

Despite the violence involved in the incident, Isabella does not rise to most forms of provocation. However, she does not feel sympathy for any of the casualties – particularly Rains, T _(note – Rains file erased), _even when deliberately informed of some 'Freudian' excuses for their actions. This is not necessarily unhealthy, in fact it is entirely rational – patient believes that the past does not excuse the actions of the present. This view is subjective – there is some sympathy spread among other patients, but Isabella proves resilient to this view. This is likely due to a more direct experience of the violence, and a result of threats directed towards Flynn, to whom she is (as mentioned) protective.

Certainly, the patient's determination and bravery is of great calibre, and she is, forgiving several personality quirks, mostly unshaken from any potentially traumatic sights. Standard tests were performed with unremarkable results. Patient strongly wishes that Flynn would enter therapy, showing a great deal of concern.

_Conclusion: _Further therapy unnecessary, but easily available should patient request it. Isabella Garcia-Shapiro is fully functional in everyday life, and no assistance is required.

* * *

Name: Flynn, Candace

_Initial notes: _Patient sustained severe injuries in the incident and is temporarily confined to a wheelchair. The gunshot wounds were relatively minor, and at this stage any special accommodation is unwarranted. The patient was one of, if not the main form of resistance to the terrorist known as Ironside, so a thoroughly mentally exhausted state is not entirely unexpected.

_Interview: _Patient is extremely neurotic, to the point of anal retentive. Insists upon attending to usual scheduling – 'busting' her brothers. At first, it was suspected that the patient was desperate to claw back some form of order after a chaotic event, but the guardian has informed that it is, and always has been, a quirk of personality. This strict adherence to routine apparently granted the patient the resolve to fight against Ironside.

In person, the patient is rather impatient and unintentionally rude. Again, this was initially assumed to be as a result of the incident, again we were informed that this is not the case. Genuine familial concern is evident amidst bouts of moderate paranoia and somewhat troubling rambling.

Patient has self-diagnosed with 'Inspector Javert Syndrome'. Despite her physical injuries, this hypochondria directed towards mental health is truly bizarre. Patient appears to be attempting to justifying her own presence. She had been reassured that this is not required, and that she is a healthy teenager, if not physically.

_Conclusion: _Further therapy unnecessary, at least for the foreseeable future. It is possible that the stress of 'busting her brothers' may lead her to seek psychiatric help, which we have offered. An eccentric girl, but functions well in society.

* * *

Name: Fletcher, [REDACTED] aka 'Ferb'

_Initial notes: _Patient is notoriously introverted, to the point of almost being misdiagnosed with Asperger's Syndrome at an early age. Separate from other CCC-victims due to an early release, and present at the deaths of two of the criminals, one of whom he knew personally. Caution required in approach, in case an early remark results in lack of cooperation.

_Interview: _Barely spoke, as predicted, but was surprisingly cooperative despite this – often communicating through nods or grunts, but not in an ill-tempered manner. Patient briefly stated his intention to follow his brother's advice and 'keep moving forward', although he is visibly saddened by events. Like previous patients, Fletcher expressed concern for the mental wellbeing of Phineas Flynn, who has once again refused any form of treatment.

It was impossible to talk to the patient without approaching the past, near-faded memories of his life in England. Despite the obvious antagonism between him and the deceased Rains, Fletcher has admitted to both feelings of guilt and sadness, both of which seemed evident. He believes that the deceased held a romantic attachment to him, which he did not requite – this is purely speculative, but it could be that the calm moment of death has distorted Fletcher's impression of the deceased's personality.

Fletcher has a strong connection to his step-family, and can easily be seen as another child merely coping with loss. However, it was reported, and he confirmed, that the second death he witnessed (of the terrorist Ironside) elicited little response. Such a cold response appears out-of-character – even the violence of such a sight did not move him to speak beyond bored acknowledgement. Counteracting this cold response though, Fletcher has been assisting former-Smile Away pupils in returning to their homes and families, so the coldness may be seen as a mere aberration.

_Conclusion: _Fletcher is a perfectly normal - if intentionally withdrawn – child that has experienced loss and a time of great stress. Further therapy is not required – patient only requires the space and time in which to recover. His philanthropic actions towards his former attackers will doubtlessly hasten his recuperation.

* * *

Name: Kriemhild, Gretchen

_Initial notes: _Patient would appear to be a typical, happy member of the Fireside Girls, but past incidents involving her family would indicate otherwise. Patient was also the subject of intended torture at the hands of one of the terrorists (Josef 'Ludovico' Lorre -now deceased), the obvious impact of which will have left her extremely vulnerable. Slow approach likely essential.

_Interview: _Patient is extremely uncooperative, and appears to be deliberately trying to be as unpleasant as humanly possible. Questions were answered with questions, sarcasm, and rather verbose verbal abuse. However, her attendance does display her willingness to seek some help – therapy is not mandatory after all. When told this, patient pushed her spectacles back up and smirked.

The interview seemed to provide the patient with no end of amusement, but I suspect it was as much a cry for help as it was an attempt to save face. Kriemhild shows severe signs of a stunted emotional range and a repressed sexuality. Overall, she suffers from an intense hatred of herself, which goes back further than the incident, linking to her relationship with her father (incarcerated). She is locked in antagonism with her elder sister, and is fiercely protective of her mother. According to other patients, she only has two real friends, both of whom she treats poorly.

Miss Kriemhild displays a notable lack of empathy for both the victims and the perpetrators of the incident. When intentionally pressed for an opinion on Phineas Flynn, patient eventually shrugged and admitted that she simply did not care. Coupled with her belief in her superior intelligence, and a distressing inability to grasp at common decency or societal cues, the patient shows several signs of psychopathy. However, she is notably affected by the incident – involuntary shaking – which would contradict this, and rumour would have it that she is capable of great kindness.

_Conclusion: _Her very distinctive case offers little in the way of a conclusion, but I would highly recommend that the patient continue therapy, and that social workers offer more in the way of support. At this point, Gretchen is in sore need of strong guidance, and it is doubtful that it will be found anywhere else. _(note – patient rejected further treatment)_

* * *

Name: Sweetwater, Adyson J

_Initial notes: _A routine case, one of the CCC-victims, a well-adjusted Fireside Girl of little serious note. _(note – moved to important file in light of recent events)_

_Interview: _Patient did not appear to be aware that she was being uncooperative, but she sang 'Under Pressure' on repeat, for the full hour, with different voices for David Bowie and Freddie Mercury.

_Conclusion: _Troll. No further therapy needed, and if asked for, my professional opinion is to run screaming in the opposite direction.

* * *

_Audio transcripts. From the files of Dr PR Deltoid. _

_Smile Away Reformatory School_

_Floreat Iuventus_

Subject: Wales, Simon, aka Patient 28

D: Come in 28. Yes, you may sit.

W: Ah, thanks. Uh, is this routine?

D: Yes, it's alright. Ironside thought that you and your brother would best undergo the same procedures as everyone else. Now, why are you here in Smile Away?

W: Oh, we were born into it. Well, not really – Mam and Dad died, and our aunt took us into it. We've been here ever since. Not literally here, ah, you know, out and about…

D: Yes, I understood perfectly well. That book you have?

W: Bible, sir.

D: Your file says that it is the only one you own.

W: Ah, yeah. I take what I can get though. Although I don't really like the ones Smile Away has to offer, if I can, ah, say that.

D: You don't like Orson Scott Card?

W: To be honest, sir, ah, he's a little right-wing, even for us. It makes me feel dirty even picking one up.

D: Speaking of dirt, you've assembled quite a bizarre circle of friends. Any explanation?

W: Ah, we're all sort of similar – we're like separate from the rest of the kids, so it was sort of, ah, natural. We've never really had friends before. To tell you the truth, my brother and I were pretty similar up until recently. Sometimes we'd even play at being each other. Now we look completely different.

D: That's good. You are still dedicated to the cause?

W: Uh, yes, of course. I, ah, I don't doubt ah…

D: But?

W: S-sorry?

D: There's a 'but' coming, isn't there?

W: Ah, well, it's just that the school seems to be making people _worse. _And the ones who improve, they have no real choice! What's the point in sin and morality if you have no control?"

D: These are subtleties 28, the important thing is that it works. I'm scheduling you for a little Ludovico treatment to iron out the creases in your otherwise exemplary behaviour.

W: Wait, I-!

D: _[interrupting] _Also, for the good of your health, I would advise against your growing closeness to Rains. Despite what you may think, he is not your friend. He'll use you and move on without another glance.

W: You're wrong, Thomas is…_[incoherent]_

D: Before you go, look at this picture.

_[scraping – a chair pulled back hastily]_

W: Ah! What the he… what are you showing me that for?

D: No reason. Take him away.

* * *

Subject: Wales, Daniel, aka Patient 27

W: Fuck man, can't a guy finish taking a shite round here?

D: Sit down, 27. Your brother has just finished his interview. How do you feel?

W: What, like now? Confused?

D: A good enough start. Now, tell me, why are you here?

W: Your goons grabbed me in the cubicle, you fud. Can I go now?

D: No. Why do you think Smile Away is necessary?

W: Is it? You guys point and I shoot. That's all I need to know. But you cut my ghoulies off, so I guess it's a complicated fucken relationship.

D: Your castration was necessary for our experiments.

W: What experiments, you big paedo?

D: You are trying my patience. Believe me, you do not want me to sign you up for more treatment than is necessary.

W: I don't give a puddle of wank, to be honest. Hey, sign that twat Rains up for some. Actually, no, that'll probably just turn him on, the sick fuck.

D: Please stop swearing.

W: Oh, okay, of course I will YOU GIANT! GAY! FUCK!

D: Very well, if you do not stop, I will sign up your brother for far more electroshock treatment than he requires.

_[short period of silence]_

W: …Alright, fine. I don't really care about Smile Away, and I don't care who knows. I like fighting, I like my brother, Bob and the Voice of Fate. And I really don't like that creepy guy Ironside employs – the one that drives that blue car. There's my loyalty. So take it or leave it, sign me up for whatever you have planned. I don't care what happens to me.

D: I'm aware. Your combative behaviour is suicidal at best. Does your desire for death double as a desire to be remembered? A legacy borne of your inability to ever have one? You are remarkably sane for a boy of your position, and your divergent path from your twin seems jarring.

W: I remember Belfast. I remember mam, and dad, and I remember a flat with a breakfast bar and a little Union Flag. Now where do I live? In a hotel room, on planes, in the field. You know nothing about me. We're done here.

D: Before you go, look at this picture.

W: Fuck! Don't spring that on me, I see enough of it! Crazy bastard.

* * *

Subject: Paulsen, Robert, aka Bob

P: Good morning boss!

D: Hello Robert, how are we doing today? That looks like a nasty scrape.

P: Ha, it's pretty sore. The others were using me for target practice with the archery equipment.

D: That sounds creative.

P: Oh no, it's nothing like that boss, just good old-fashioned disciplined exercise! I volunteered! Well, Thomas volunteered me, but it was all in good fun. Luckily my body blocked most of the arrows from hitting the target.

D: I… I see. Anyway, do you know why you're here Bob? In Smile Away?

P: Of course – creative acts are imitable and dangerous. Good boys don't make anything but their sisters happy. Got to work together for the future, build a better tomorrow starting today.

D: What about you personally, Robert? Why are you here?

P: Sorry boss, I don't get it.

D: What do you remember of the time before Smile Away?

P: Well… I don't think I did anything bad, like the guys who got sent here for criminal stuff. I remember she was hanging the washing, and I was playing a bit away…

D: And then? Do you remember?

P: She got distracted. A man started talking to her. And when he talked to her, the other men came and took me away. There was a van, and there were so many of us. They took us here, and I'm still standing.

D: Paulsen, if you like… I can get you released, quickly, quietly.

P: Oh, no thanks boss. I couldn't leave, not with Lucy and Thomas and the twins. They'd all fall apart without me. Besides, the big boss won't let you. Ironside's planning something big and he needs all of us.

D: …Very well Paulsen. I'm sorry. Before you go, look at this picture.

_[scraping, followed by crash]_

P: I'm going now, right now.

* * *

Subject: Ferrea, Lucy, aka Voice of Fate

D: Okay, and this face? What emotion is it displaying?

F: I don't know.

D: How about this one?

F: I don't know. Hungry?

D: _[frustrated groan] _No, a- it's anger, the person is _angry! _See? Look at the expression. Try to think how you would feel if your face was positioned like this.

F: …Permanently?

D: No! God… What emotion would you be expressing if you were pulling this face, Lucy?

F: …Hunger?

D: It's the same face as before! It's still anger!

F: How was I supposed to know?

D: BECAUSE EVEN DOGS RECOGNISE EMOTION! Lucy, even if you lack any form of human empathy, I will teach you cognitive empathy, even if it kills me. Look, what makes you angry?

F: I don't understand the question.

D: What might be making the man angry?

F: …Hunger?

D: _[muttering – swearing} _Perhaps, Lucy, perhaps. Maybe he's really hungry, and someone just ate the last sandwich. What would you do in that situation? You'd get angry, right?

F: Why doesn't he make another sandwich?

D: There's no food left to make it with.

F: Why not?

D: He didn't go shopping.

F: Why not?

D: He's lazy – I don't know, it's not the point!

F: He should have thought this through. I still don't understand how it relates to the face he's pulling.

D: Ugh, never mind. I'll see you next time Lucy. I have a problem patient next.

F: Good luck then.

D: Oh, I almost forgot – before you go, look at this picture.

F: Interesting. His head is almost completely gone.

* * *

Subject: Rains, Thomas, aka 'That Bastard'

R: Hi-hi-hi there, Mr Deltoid!

D: Now, everyone else has been very well behaved today Thomas. I hope you have composed yourself. I thought we'd begin where we left off – some have been unnerved by your sexualised behaviour. In your file, it is stated that you endured sexual and physical abuse from both parents. Do you remember?

R: Me sir? Sexualised? Please. Aheh. The knife had to go somewhere.

D: What knife?

R: _[singing] _My mother has killed me, my father is eating me, my brothers and sisters sit under the table, picking up my bones, they will bury them…

D: _[interrupting] _If you don't want to talk about it, fine. I've taken interest in your case, Rains. You're smart. Smarter than you act. You can play musical instruments expertly, I've seen you read literature far beyond your level, and you have a sound knowledge of machinery. Why don't you use it?

R: Because it's boring… Boring! Ordinary. Big ordinary people. Never be as good as him. No point in trying. Aheheh.

D: Of course, it all comes back to Ferb Fletcher. Does he make you feel inferior?

R: I watched a snail crawl along the edge of a straight razor…

D: Pay attention.

R: The bird of Hermes is my name, eating my wings to make me tame. We are the hollow men, we are the stuffed men…

D: Electroshock for you Rains, if you do not cooperate, do I make myself clear?

R: As an unmuddied lake. As clear as an azure sky of deepest summer. You can rely on me Brother Sir!

D: …It's obvious we'll get nowhere today. One last thing then – before you go, look at this picture.

_[scraping}_

R: Heh, ew. He should have aimed a little higher. And further back. And not at his own face. He looks like tenderised meat.

D: Very good. Goodbye Rains.

R: Bye bye, sir. _[singing] _I set your curtains on fiiiiiire!

D: Jesus Christ! Someone get in here, fire! Fire!

R: Don't worry about my behaviour, Brother Sir.

D: Get him out, wheel him out of here!

R: Broken things everywhere, I'm your patron saint. I absolve you. Heh. I absolve you.

_[further dialogue indecipherable, crashing and crackling of fire audible]_

* * *

**Rising out of the abyss, faster than a speeding bullet, more powerful than a locomotive, I bring you a late update! Very sorry. There's not really much for me to say here, I'm trying to think…**

**The title of the chapter refers to the Smile Away interviews there, and the reactions the students have to the extremely graphic picture. The real psychopath might surprise you, then again, they might not. Perhaps they're not a real one, just emotionally stunted. But it raises questions about their actions throughout the stories.**

**As always, 27's dialogue is childishly fun to write.**

**Well, see you all next time (and on time, hopefully) for Devil In The Gateway Part 4! (I'm aiming for five parts, but it may need six).**


	7. Devil In The Gateway: Part Four

**Devil In The Gateway Part Four - Nemesis**

* * *

"Adyson, I do not like Queen, and I do not like David Bowie. Bearing that in mind, do you think I want to listen to them on the same song?"

Adyson replied by turning the volume up – Gretchen muttered obscenities that went unheard due to the sound of both music and Fenris skittering backwards and forwards in the back seat. They had had a significant battle over the choice of music in Adyson's car, and Adyson had inevitably won, perhaps because Gretchen's idea of 'music' often sounded like the dial-up tone of a computer in 1998. Adyson's music was schizophrenic to say the least, but a lot of it appeared to be from soundtracks, not that Gretchen would have been able to recognise them. Making the ride more hazardous than usual was the stench of the Mr Slushy Burger 'produce' in the backseat.

"Hey, I asked Phineas if we could go back to the second dimension sometime," Adyson said, turning a corner suddenly.

Gretchen braced herself against the door. "He said no, didn't he? Thanks to you Adyson, none of us are allowed back."

"I couldn't help it, we just hit it off!"

"And everyone was thoroughly disturbed. The two of you could have at least been private about it. Or should I say, the one of you."

"Heh," Adyson chuckled, and pulled into the first available parking space. She still refused Gretchen's advice that they should park in disabled spaces for quicker access. "Hey, what's going on there?"

Gretchen cautiously observed the sight as she exited the car – a black van, marked with 'HBO', men carrying cameras exiting the building, led by a middle-aged presenter with slicked-back hair. Unfortunately, her eyes caught his, and the cameras were turned on them, with a swiftly advancing reporter leading the charge.

"Miss Kriemhild! Miss Sweetwater! Hey, I'm Morty Williams, could we have a moment?"

"I'd rather you didn't," Gretchen said, walking towards the detention centre, but the television crew blocked her path.

"We're filming a documentary about Lucy Ferrea, care to say a few words?"

"I'm Adyson Sweetwater and I approve this film!"

"We meant words relevant to the subject. Gretchen, what's your opinion on Lucy Ferrea, what kind of person is she?"

Gretchen paused, pushing her glasses up her nose. On the footage, they would catch in the light and flash dangerously.

"If you really want my opinion, Lucy Ferrea isn't a person. She's a spider at the centre of a web. She's a pure sociopath. I know none of you will heed my advice on that, however."

"So, is Ferrea your nemesis?"

Adyson immediately thought of Irving and how much she wished he had been present to capture the moment on one of his many cameras. She would have had the picture laminated and put in her room if she could, a monument to comedy itself. Gretchen had not foreseen the question, and at first her face was slightly bewildered – but then, gloriously, she turned a brilliant shade of red, suddenly very aware of the cameras pointing at her face.

"She- I, ah! We're just at odds, that's all, I don't like her, but it's not like that!"

Morty Williams could apparently sense the blood in the water. "Would you say the feeling's mutual?"

Gretchen stumbled backwards, the mechanics of her mind all at once at fault, sliding in an attempt to regain her usual air of superiority. Adyson was at a loss on whether or not to intervene – it was cruel, yes, but she was aware that such a sight might never again meet human eyes. Then Fenris barked, and Gretchen's intelligence recovered from incoherent babbling, snapping back into place.

"Didn't you make a documentary on the original Smile Away when it was operational?" she said, her smirk returning. "You were in favour of it, hurm? That must have dealt your career quite a blow. Not that it needed one. With that greasy moustache and your impossibly tacky clothing, I'd imagine that only decrepit old people watch your shows, and only for the comfort of someone else's presence. Does it make you happy that ninety-percent of your viewers are too preoccupied with their catheters to even comprehend your subject matter? Then again, if they paid attention to the subject matter, you'd have no viewers at all."

Adyson had been aware of the phrase 'deafening silence' before, but it was not until that moment that she felt she properly understood the term. The crew members looked at each other in silence, shaking their heads and grinning in disbelief, overjoyed that such footage genuinely existed. Morty Williams' moustache twitched until it seemed to lose synchronisation with his facial muscles and hung at an angle looking very much like (in Adyson's opinion) a depressed caterpillar that had just attempted suicide.

Possessed of an important purpose – that purpose being to defuse the situation before someone went postal – Adyson ushered Gretchen hurriedly inside the building. Before the doors closed behind them, Morty was audibly berating his crew for snickering about his moustache.

"Hey Gretch," Adyson said quietly, a smile ready to spread. "Is she your nemesis?"

Gretchen blushed again, disappointingly not as greatly as the first time, and mumbled something. Her saviour approached in the form of Braun, who appeared blissfully unaware of Gretchen's continued embarrassment.

"It's been a busy day for her, but she's quite chipper," he said. "The filming seemed to lift her spirits quite a bit. It's certainly going to be good."

"I don't watch TV."

"Well I do," said Adyson. "Too often in fact. Once, I actually dissolved in front of the screen, and my mom had to come in and freeze me back into a solid state, and…"

"Your brain and your mouth are not connected at all, are they?" Gretchen asked, in all seriousness.

Adyson shrugged. Braun led them into a room they had not seen before, a vast, white warehouse that tried very hard to be a gym, and would have looked like one were it not for the notable lack of gym equipment. Instead, the designer had dumped a gymnastics horse in the middle of the room and placed climbing bars all round the sides, evoking the image of a cage.

Gretchen looked around suspiciously. "Where is she, we got her awful junk food-!"

The Mr Slushy Dog bag shot out of Gretchen's hand and upwards, clutched desperately. When the visitors turned round, they were granted the slightly alarming sight of Lucy Ferrea clinging, upside down, to the climbing bars above the entrance, already devouring the fries and slurping noisily through her drink straw. Irritatingly, she refused to speak until she was finished eating, which took some time considering the sheer volume of food ordered, coupled with the fact that she was currently in a very awkward position in which to be eating anything.

"You're trying my patience," Gretchen snapped.

"Nemesis," Adyson said in a stage-whisper to her unwilling conspirator Braun.

The paper cup dropped to the ground, only the ice remaining, while Lucy pulled herself up by her legs, ending up in a seated position, ten feet in the air, content on her strange throne. Once inspected for remains, the rest of the bag followed, minus anything edible that had gone up with it.

"Are we going to see this letter or not?"

Fluttering gently downwards on cue, the letter landed in Gretchen's hands. Eyeing the girl above her Gretchen slid it out of the envelope.

"It's just the letter, nothing else?"

"That's not enough?" Lucy said.

"My nemuh, nemuh, ooh, my nemuh, nemuh…"

Gretchen ignored Adyson and examined the letter. It was undeniably the same handwriting, the same awful scrawl that looked as if an insect had dipped itself in ink and danced across the page. It looked more urgent than before however, almost panicked.

_Dear Ms Ferrea_

_It's failed, the whole operation. I can't do it, not on my own. I have to talk to you, face-to-face. I know you probably don't want to see me, I know it's risky, but it needs to be done. Not the place for you, understand? I'll meet you, I'll arrange everything, it'll be easy, really easy if you just let me do what I need to do, really really easy. I have to, you understand? Of course you understand. You know how these work, you can help me with my project._

_Visit like Rains._

"It's dated today," Adyson said, reading over Gretchen's shoulder. "What does that mean?"

"It means he plans to move today, deliberately giving as short a notice as possible," said Gretchen. "Hurm. And it's unlikely he's here for the visiting hours."

"What do you mean?" Adyson asked.

"Aren't ordinary people _adorable_!" Ferrea crowed from her perch. "I should get myself a live-in one."

"I mean he's trying to break her out, not just talk to her. The visit like Rains part confirms that. Rains broke out of here years ago, our boy plans to break Lucy out."

"There's no way that's happening."

"I don't exactly want to leave with a smelly stranger either," Ferrea called.

"Hooray, we're all agreed," said Gretchen with no emotion whatsoever.

"Now, look here," Braun said. "If one of my patients is in danger, I'm afraid I'll have to bring the police in on this. It was fine when it was just a little therapy project, but I can't risk anyone's safety like this!"

"That's why he chose today, Braun, as little notice as possible," Gretchen said, suddenly animated and excited. "He's not clever, but there's a basic cunning to his actions, giving himself a window of opportunity. You could call the police, and you might be able to get a couple to drive by tonight, but they can't simply launch cops all over the place based on a creepy fan-letter in such a short space of time. They'll expect the security here could handle a lone worker."

"But they could," Adyson said. "Come on, this is hardly a great mystery to life. It's not a big question like 'Why do people like Johnny Depp' or 'Why does Orson Scott Card exist', it's 'can they take him', and the answer is 'yup, it'll be a piss-take'."

"For once, Adyson," Gretchen said, "You are completely correct."

All noise was vacuumed from the room, everyone turning to Gretchen in disbelief. Adyson looked overjoyed, occasionally flickering with moments of confusion and doubt, while Braun and Ferrea struggled not to fall over in sheer surprise. Gretchen quietly observed this reaction, the train-tracks in her brain converging with a click, smiled and began to explain her uncharacteristic distribution of a compliment that did not sound entirely vicious.

"I could take out a single lunatic, grown man or not. Adyson could, Braun too, even if he is rather overweight…"

"Hey!"

"Work out. You have lost some weight though, I'll give you that. That coughing's not healthy either, get it checked."

"I have lung cancer, if you'd bothered to pay attention!"

The train derailed in Gretchen's head. "Oh… Look, I was just trying to… I'm really sorry, Braun, I didn't know…"

"It's alright," Braun said, calm again, and leaning back against the wall. "I didn't mean to explode like that."

"Well, are you in treatment?" Adyson asked, voice high with concern. "It's fine right?"

"You know the kind of cancer you get better from?" Braun said, with a grin that did not spread to saddened eyes.

"That's not the kind he's got," Ferrea answered, scuttling down from her perch onto the floor.

"Doctor, I'm…"

Braun waved his hand dismissively. "Don't worry about it. Continue explaining please. He doesn't sound like much of a threat."

"You're right," said Gretchen, and she began to pace the gym. "He'd be noticed right away. In any normal set of circumstances, you and Adyson would be correct in your assumptions. But then you're missing one very important thing."

"What's that?"

"I know who he is."

It had the dramatic effect that Gretchen had hoped for; everyone leaned in towards her, gasping. Even Ferrea lost her lazy smile and replaced it with a look of deep curiosity, perhaps with a little jealousy that she had not been the one to identify the man. Gretchen cracked her neck and stopped in her pacing, turning to face her captive (literally, in one case) audience and spreading her arms.

"Who might you pass every day, trusting them with no reason, someone with a distinct level of trust?"

"Taxi driver?" Adyson said.

"Any sort of transport driver, I guess," Braun said.

"Police officer," Lucy said.

"Yes!" Gretchen exclaimed loudly, causing everyone to flinch. "Excellent, why?"

"Nemeses," Adyson sang.

"Because they're in a place of authority," Ferrea said, and then a grin set across her features. "Oh, I get it. And Smile Away is drawn to authority, it's the whole point. That was smart Gretchen."

"Do you think so?" Gretchen said, nearly blushing. Quickly, she remembered herself. "So this guy's drawn to power, places of trust he can abuse. Like…"

"A school teacher! Arthur Leigh Guillam!" Adyson yelled, temporarily deafening Braun right beside her.

Gretchen was almost jumping up and down on the spot by this point. "Yes! Arthur Leigh Guillam! He likes Smile Away, positions of power, and he needs to get here, and…" She held the pause for longer than necessary. "…and he hasn't been home in sometime. Why would that be?"

"Because he's no longer living as Arthur Leigh Guillam," Braun realised. "Jesus Christ. We have to call the police. He's here. He's always been here."

"WRONG!" Gretchen screamed. "Well, you were correct, but seriously, if you call the police, I'll hurt you quite badly. This is my case. Guillam's weaselled his way in here, now we're going to catch him."

Gretchen flopped down to the wooden floor, breathing heavily in pants, and red in the face, with an eerily-contented grin on her face. Adyson actually found the image quite disturbing, and guessed that in any other person, such a state might have been reached in the aftermath of something else entirely.

"Wow. You were talking faster than me there," Ferrea said, impressed.

"The letters aren't delivered with the rest of the mail, I'm sure he drops them in with the rest at the start of the day. Given that Lucy's still here, I guess he works nights. When does that shift star Braun?"

"Seven."

"Gives us about three hours," Gretchen smirked. "The game is afoot, Watson."

* * *

To avoid Braun's complaints of safety, Gretchen was forced to tailor her plan around distance from Guillam if she wanted to avoid police intervention. Of the suspect being Guillam she was certain – Braun had brought up the profiles of the guards, and one 'Leigh Ross' was blatantly Guillam, the same gaunt, rat-face and dead-eyed look. And like a rat, Gretchen was going to slam the cage on him.

Ferrea's safety had been considered too – she was to remain in the gym, with all pretences indicating that she was within her cell. Braun had stated that the cell doors were all compute-activated, with only a single key to open them in an emergency. Years ago, this would have been considered irresponsible – now it was standard procedure.

The plan in itself was simple. They would all wait in the gym until they were ready – the cells quite visible from the door, but he gym door concealed from the cells. When Guillam made his move towards Ferrea's cell, Braun and Gretchen would slip out of the gym and close the cell in on Guillam and put the centre into lockdown, imprisoning Guillam in the middle of his prison breakout.

At ten minutes to seven, all four peered out from behind the gym door, Gretchen visibly shaking with excitement.

"Lucy! Get back in! If he sees you…"

Lucy shrugged and sank back from the door. She stood swaying on the spot for a moment, waving her good hand in strange movements.

"What are you doing?" Adyson asked.

"Conducting," Ferrea replied, eyes closed. "Ode to Joy… Freude… Freude!"

Adyson raised an eyebrow and turned back to the group. She tried to lean on Gretchen, but the shaking caused her to shake too, so she was left with a poor view of events. Braun leaned forward suddenly.

"Hang on, that door's not meant to be open!"

The cell next to Ferrea's had opened without warning, swinging ominously on its hinges, creaking slightly. Gretchen stopped shaking and narrowed her eyes.

"Freude," sang Lucy, a little louder. "And then echoes with… Freude! Freude, schöner Götterfunken, Tochter aus Elysium…"

"Adyson, on me," Gretchen muttered darkly, sliding out into the corridor.

"Check, and come straight back," whispered Braun.

Adyson followed Gretchen cautiously, becoming slightly irritated by Ferrea's quiet singing in the background, which occasionally fell to a hum.

"Wir betreten feuertrunken, Himmlische, dein Heiligtum! Deine Zauber binden wieder  
Was die Mode streng geteilt; Alle Menschen werden Brüder, Wo dein sanfter Flügel weilt. And then the whole choir: Deine Zauber binden wieder…"

Gretchen peered around the corner, noting that the corridor was empty, and the reception desk unoccupied – the computer apparently untouched. Gretchen thought that the door being open was simply an error, but had risked too much to simply ignore a potential threat when the goal loomed so close. Eyes darting behind reflective lenses, she stepped into the empty cell, with Adyson close behind.

"Heh," said Adyson nervously. "I bet the guy shakes like you were doing Gretch. Did you see his handwriting? All over the place."

Gretchen replied, if only to comfort her friend. "That's true, although more likely, he learned to write later in life, or…" She paled considerably.

"What is it Gretch?" Adyson said, alarmed.

"Or because the hand used to write is not the one that the suspect favours… Done by left-hand… because the right-hand doesn't work."

The two girls looked at each other simultaneously, as if they were swapping information, joining it in a grand summary without having to exchange another word between themselves.

"_How's your son?"_

"_He's getting worse Adyson, but thank you for asking. I don't know how I'm going to pay for it."_

"_You enjoy your little mysteries, just as much as Mr Flynn enjoys his projects."_

"_Is this about the buried treasure?"_

"_They're going to transfer me soon."_

"_I can pay you."_

"_Everything the Circus thinks is gold is shit, made in Moscow."_

"_If you really want my opinion, Lucy Ferrea isn't a person. She's a spider at the centre of a web. She's a pure sociopath."_

"_You know the kind of cancer you get better from?"_

"_Who might you pass every day, trusting them with no reason, someone with a distinct level of trust?"_

In an instant, Gretchen saw what she had not witnessed, filled in the apparatus that performed the whole magic trick.

_The boy, experimenting with monocane. Wrote to Ferrea, and it certainly caught Ferrea's attention. Braun stole up on the boy, knocked him out, drove him out of town and left him there, the bait to start the game. The kid wasn't supposed to be lost as long as he was, but it worked in the end._

"_Arthur Leigh Guillam?"_

"_Who the hell-!"_

_Braun shot Guillam twice in the head, down among the film canisters, catching the body before it hit the floor. Disposed of, identity stolen, identification used to alter personnel files. All a clever dance, designed to distract one person._

"Jesus," Gretchen managed to say, before the cell door slammed shut behind them and locked. Looking at Adyson, Gretchen could only think of one thing to say: "We… she won…"

"Oh, we're not done yet!" cried Lucy, walking out of the gym. "Mr Dr Braun, if you would be so kind… It's been fun, Gretchen, I couldn't have had such fun without you, but now… It's time for me to go!"

Hatred, indignation, and admiration fought for control in Gretchen's mind, and she was riveted to the spot, all she could do to even begin to comprehend the devil in the gateway before her.

* * *

**Sorry, I was going to be on time, but I've not been well this week, so this never got finished when I wanted. Ah, the mystery is all very fast, isn't it? Regardless, any other loose points will be wrapped up and explained in the concluding chapter. And you thought Ferrea had gone through villain decay, didn't ya? Well, she kinda has, she's still accepting of her punishment from the previous story, but she completely refuses the idea of an adult prison.**

**Wow, so, I dunno what next week's will be (lot of references in this chapter, while I'm reminded, she if you can spot them all). Either 27 and 28's misadventure chasing after Phineas & co during Summer Belongs To You, or a story starring Irving, in which we learn the unfortunate accidents that befall someone trying to court a misanthropic, borderline-asexual possible sociopath.**

**Nothing else to say, see you next time!**


	8. Dysfunction Actually

**Dysfunction Actually**

**_'It's strange that Evangelion has become such a hit - all the characters are so sick!' - _Hideaki Anno (speaking rather accurately) on _Neon Genesis Evangelion_  
**

* * *

Cameras blinked and rotated, zooming in and out, expanding, capturing frame upon frame in the strangest symphony he had ever heard, and yet, the sound he knew he lived for. In the Flynn-Fletcher house, Phineas and Ferb were still asleep, every motion recorded and stored for further reference. In the Garcia-Shapiro household, Isabella was drying her hair, and if she adhered to her routine (which he knew she would), she would continue to do so for another 3.5673 minutes. All across Danville, the people rose and slowly booted into life, with some aware, but most not, that he was watching their every move.

Irving was in his element.

There was no real reason for such omniscience, other than being born as possibly the most inquisitive person on the planet. Combined with a complete lack of social boundaries, Irving proved an annoyance that Danville had learned to live with.

Well, except one. One apartment was camera-free. Gretchen had scoured her rooms, removing the cameras, the decoy cameras, the decoys of the decoys, and even the motion-sensors. Irving had no idea why she had taken it upon herself to do so, but he did know that it vexed him greatly. It was almost as if she didn't want to be safe.

In the aftermath of the Smile Away incident and Phineas' ill-fated adventure through time, Irving had been forced to find his own entertainment, in the absence of inventions from the Flynn-Fletchers. Surprisingly, this had led to actually making friends – something that had his mother overjoyed. Gretchen and Adyson had allowed his attachment, as if they had adopted a stray dog.

So when Adyson strolled into his basement, he did not immediately reach to activate the traps. He did suspect that one day he might have to, if he ever got round to stealing the Swamp Oil 500 trophy.

"Whatcha doin'?" Adyson asked.

"Just the usual. Hardly anyone's up yet. You're actually 0.342 seconds later than usual due to a rock on the sidewalk just outside my house."

"Do you know how everything runs in Danville?"

"Pretty much. Or, I used to – I have less cameras now. People got all antsy about them. And I'm sure you two dealt with a lot. There are still some in your room by the way."

"Hey, as long as you're not whacking off to these videos, I don't care."

Adyson crossed the room and then proceeded to cross right into Irving's personal space, as she did for everyone. He had learned to live with it, but it was somewhat disconcerting when she threw her arm around his neck and dug into his head with her knuckles.

"Hey, Irv_iiing_!"

"What!"

"You were thinking about Gretchen!"

If he had not already been red from the pressure that Adyson was applying to his head, Irving would have blushed. Instead, emotional and physical pressure decided to express themselves via his nose.

"Ew."

"Sorry. Id iz pardly your fauld. I neeb do pinch the brid of by node now…"

Adyson released the boy from the headlock, checking her arms for blood. She grinned suddenly and pulled the plug on Irving's camera system. Muted and denied a scream of horror by the tissue he was clamping to his nose, Irving could only glower ineffectually between gasps for air.

"I gotta question your choice in girls though," Adyson drawled, twirling the plug. "You could go after someone who doesn't have the personality of Microsoft Sam."

Sniffing loudly, Irving's voice came low with a nasal whine. "I'll follow your advice then. Oh wait, you have even less chance than me of finding a girl who'll look twice."

"Your cruel words wound me, sir," Adyson cried, and pretended to fall to the ground, clutching at an imaginary injury. Without warning, she shot back up, her cartoon-like grasp of basic physics shooting her across the room, where she perched on Irving's desk, head cocked questioningly. "You should tell her. I think she'd understand."

Irving paled – which considering his already pallid complexion, was quite remarkable to behold. "That's not a threat, is it? You won't tell her? You can't, she'd kill me!"

Adyson rolled her eyes.

"Just think about the consequences, Adyson!" Irving looked genuinely afraid, which Adyson thought was genuinely hilarious. "Just think!"

Adyson thought.

"_I have lived with them, studied their ways, earned their trust! I am queen of the Mormons!"_

"Adyson!"

"What?"

"I meant think about the current situation!"

"Oh." Adyson thought again. In the little cinema within her mind, she watched Gretchen hit Irving with a sixteen-wheeled truck. Repeatedly. "Okay, maybe she could take it the wrong way, but hey, it'd be funny for me."

Irving groaned, realising for the first time that the world which he inhabited apparently used him for comedy at all points of his life. He didn't mind if people found him creepy, but he did mind that no one took him seriously.

"Adyson!" he boomed suddenly, knowing that such flair was likely to grab his companion's rather short attention. "Under penalty of torture, you are hereby ordered never to divulge this information to Gretchen!"

"What information?" Gretchen asked. Standing on the wooden stairs leading into the basement, the pale light of the monitors did not quite reach her, leaving her in silhouette.

Irving's nose burst as if on cue. Adyson took one look and promptly fell from her perch, shaking with laughter. This bizarre sight did little to affect Gretchen, who strolled past the two of them and sat down at Irving's computer uninvited.

"Whatcha…doin'?" Adyson managed to say in between bursts of euphoria.

"Interesting theory," said Gretchen. "Upper classes, royal families. Reptilian humanoids, controlling us. Possibly in league with zombies. Must investigate further."

"And people say I'm nuts."

"You are," Irving muttered, searching for more tissues.

"Also," Gretchen said, returning to fluent sentences, "the Chief has got it into her funny little head that Phineas needs an extravagant birthday party again this year. Attendance is lamentably mandatory."

"But Phineas is still all…" Adyson trailed off, waving her hands and head to explain.

"Yes, he probably won't care. But the Chief gets what she wants. No wonder Ginger and Katie are leaving. I should be in charge."

"You should," said Irving, wiping away the last of the blood. "You'd be a great Chief."

"Exactly," Gretchen said. She paused in her browsing and removed her glasses, oblivious to Adyson's groan at her friends' interactions.

Irving was aware that a lot of people thought Gretchen deliberately wore reflective lenses to scare people. He did not believe this – he thought that they were simply to obscure the fact that her eyes were a brilliant colour of blue, which made her look rather childish and innocent. Gretchen, in her quest to be taken seriously, had elected to hide anything that made her look harmless, even if, as Irving thought, they were the most fascinating eyes he had ever seen.

Adyson sidled over as Gretchen put her glasses back into place and resumed typing.

"Look, this is pathetic. Both of you are looking at each other constantly. For gods' sake, tell her, or I will."

And with that overly dramatic stage whisper, Adyson made a quick excuse and left for the bathroom. Irving found himself hoping that she fell ill while away – what was worse, to badly express your own feelings, or to have Adyson badly express your feelings? The words 'rock and hard place' were too light for such a situation, regardless of how typically adolescent others would have found his situation.

"Uh, Gretchen? Can I talk to you for a second?"

"You are talking," Gretchen said, still looking at the monitor. "Loudly."

"Okay, uh… We've been friends for a while, but I…"

Gretchen suddenly rose from her seat, crossing the darkness of the basement to rummage through a box of spare parts. Irving continued, tugging at his shirt and suddenly conscious of the fact that he was sweating.

"So, we've been friends for a while, but you know that I… Well, you might have guessed…"

"Hurm," said Gretchen, removing some sort of lead piping from the box of scrap. "Do you think that this would be adequate in repelling zombies?"

"W-what? Oh, yeah, I guess so. What I mean is that over the past few months, y'know, with Phineas gone…"

"Yes, that is indeed problematic. When Flynn was building, there was a greater likelihood that we got away with our schemes and such. You've been good since then though, we've benefitted from your cameras."

"Yeah, the cameras! Um… why did you remove them from your room?"

Gretchen smirked at some private joke and continued to examine the pipe, tossing it up and down, catching it with little effort. She made a mock swing with it. "Perhaps if attached to tripwire, we can stop any intruders, not just undead. Hurm. Could attach it to the Fireside lodge. What do you think?"

Irving had passed the stage of merely turning red and was quite likely about to explode. A noise on the stairs informed him of Adyson's sneaking presence, which only made things worse.

"Yeah, I suppose, if you got it to swing at people. Head height maybe. Anyway, I really l…"

"Hurm. Heah height could be problematic," Gretchen murmured. She threw the pipe up again and caught it. "Perhaps lower. More damaging. If intruders are more likely to be male, this could ward them off when word spreads. Stand there please."

Irving did as he was told, while spreading his arms and attempting to force is feelings out into the open.

"Look, Gretchen, I think I l-!" He was cut off by the sound of his own screaming.

Adyson came rushing down the stairs almost immediately.

"Gretchen! What the hell did you do that for?"

Gretchen set the pipe back down in the box of scrap.

"Hurm. Not as satisfactory as I had hoped. You'll be alright Irving, it was just a light tap."

This did not appear to console Irving, who was clutching the area between his legs and wailing on the floor, Adyson having to avoid his writhing. She sighed and helped Irving to his feet. As always, he recovered quickly from injury, but did not seem quite so intent on speaking as openly as he had before. The moment had passed. Later that day, as the two girls walked home, Adyson looked at Gretchen.

"Were you even listening to a word he was saying?"

Adyson suddenly stopped in utter astonishment. Gretchen was smiling gently, and very obviously blushing. Slowly, the smile developed into her usual smirk, and she pushed her glasses back up her nose.

"Perhaps."

* * *

27 realised he was shaking with nerves. This did not happen often. Twice before, he had shaken out of genuine terror – the first time being when he had volunteered to join his brother in the experiments. The second time had been during Smile Away's 'Golden Years' – when the five of them ('the Thunderbolts' – named by Rains) had been dispatched to deal with Huo Zhenwei, the Chemist. The terror he had felt when the Chemist had loomed over him, maddened by betrayal, however, was not the problem he had encountered that night.

It was that night that the nerves had started – not terror, he could deal with terror. _Squishy _nerves, mushy things that he would rather not think about. The five of them, out in the cold, lighting a fire, the Smile Away hotel in the distance. Thomas and 28 were talking, too privately for 27's liking, but there was nothing he could do. So, seeking something to take his mind away from events, he had listened to a story Bob was telling Lucy, or the Voice of Fate as she was known in those days.

As a castrato, 27 was aware of his limits. But that did not stop the feeling in his stomach. Frankly, he found it disgusting, but he had discovered himself becoming increasingly fond of the redhead. Perhaps it was the alcohol, or the late hour. He had not acted, or even spoken of it. A drunken 28 had vomited on Thomas' trench coat and they all went to sleep in a bad mood.

28 knew of course, he always did – the twins did not even try to hide things from one another. But what advice was he to get from someone in the same situation as him? Bob was equally useless – when he finally grasped the concept he was encouraging and polite about it, but again, had no experience with which to advise his friend. Rains figured it out first though. Rains had laughed his head off, and the only reason he had not told Lucy was because Lucy simply did not understand what the lunatic was talking about.

27 had seen a lot of interactions between people, but he had never quite grasped the concept. That girl Candace had a boyfriend, and they were supposedly close, and Isabella had feelings for Flynn, and rumour had it that Ferb Fletcher was somewhat notorious in this area, but 27 felt it best not to ask advice from those currently under Ferrea's enslavement. They were likely to be unsupportive, but far worse was the possibility that she might overhear.

Yes, the problem in full, he thought - now that Lucy controlled Danville, commanding him once again, the feelings _would not stop_. It was infuriating, and he slammed the door open with unregistered and immediately regretted force.

"Uh, sorry." The announcement was completely unnecessary, and he found himself cringing almost as soon as he said it.

The desk chair swivelled round slowly, and Lucy took another draw of the cigarette, raising an eyebrow. 27 was not a fan of smoking, but his monocane and drinking habits excluded him from judgement. Fenris trotted over, sniffing curiously.

"Uh, hi Fenris."

"Do you need something? I thought you were getting into the exoskeleton."

"We were, but, uh, I need to talk to you."

Lucy stabbed her cigarette out on the ashtray. She rarely smoked, and 27 wondered if it was an unconscious emulation of her father. "Then talk, Seven, I'm not stopping you."

"You're, uh, a girl…"

"Indeed. Usually 28 goes for the 'uhs' and the 'ahs'."

"Sorry."

"For what?"

"No nothing, sorry."

"Again, what for?"

"Just…" 27 almost shouted, then brought his voice down to a whisper. "Fucken… Fuck it."

"That sounds more like you."

Shakily, 27 approached the desk. Lucy tilted her head curiously and stood up, watching as he walked around the desk. For once, she was less like a spider and more like a bird, green eyes the only movement in an utterly static body. Awkwardly, 27 was in her personal space. She was taller. Fenris made a strange, questioning noise.

27 realised that terror and nerves were the same thing, his hand reaching her face. Lucy flinched but said nothing. He darted forward without warning and kissed her.

It was not long, or passionate, or anything he had felt before. It was soft, but still frightening – she still stood still. It was as pleasant as it was horrible – he tasted smoke. She probably tasted Jack Daniel's finest. Above all, it was awkwardly adolescent.

He broke away first, and hesitantly stepped back. He nearly stumbled as he walked backwards across to the door.

"Well, I've uh, got to go kill people, so, see you…"

He fumbled for the door and nearly tripped over Fenris.

"Daniel," Lucy said suddenly.

"I know, I've been drinking the fucken stuff, that's why I just went ahead… Sorry."

"Not Jack Daniel's, Daniel."

"Who's that?"

Lucy's lazy smile returned to her face and she gestured towards the filing cabinet.

"That's your name. Now, hurry along and, as you say, kill people."

The very perplexed Daniel departed, and Lucy sat motionless, equally confused. Her carefully-laid plans flitted in her mind, slightly jumbled and incoherent in the current situation. She reached into her memory and confirmed her suspicions – she had, indeed, not planned for this. There was no course of action that had been considered. With horror, she realised that she had turned completely red.

"Fenris," Lucy said aloud, "can you explain what just happened?"

"Rr?"

* * *

**Poor Irving. Whenever the writing approaches comedic sociopathy, he is the victim. The uncomfortable parallels between Irving and his killer are intentional, but if you look at the timing, it's clear that 27's story comes just before he kills Irving too. On an otherwise fairly light scene, I thought it was kinda unsettling.**

**On the parallels between Gretchen and Ferrea – I've sometimes joked about Gretchen being asexual, but I don't actually intend for her to be. She is however, as her psych report suggested, extremely repressed emotionally. Again, this always works out badly for Irving. Similarly, Phineas is rather chaste, but this may be, as implied in the first story, because he's rather afraid of growing up.**

**Ferrea does have romantic or sexual undertones in her interactions with (deep breath) Thomas, 27, Phineas, Isabella, Gretchen and Adyson, but really, beyond an intellectual interest, she is not interested in people much at all. Her friendliness does cause her attachment to certain people, particularly the rest of the Thunderbolts, but she is completely asexual. In fact, as a test-tube baby, you can't help but wonder if she was manufactured this way.**

**This brings us back to the other guys – Irving the victim of an ill-fated crush; 27 with the same, added with the knowledge that he can never have a proper relationship or a legacy; Ferb's apparently unhealthy (but strangely never-seen) promiscuity, which is likely made up by rumour; 28's unwise adoration of Rains; Rains' overtly sexual advances on everyone; Adyson's hopeless crush on Isabella… (gasp for breath) Yup, everyone's pretty darn dysfunctional.**

**See you all next time!**


	9. Devil In The Gateway: Conclusion

**Devil In The Gateway Conclusion – Want You Gone**

* * *

"What's going on?"

"The lights are going out!"

"Dr Braun!"

"Relax, gentlemen," Braun spoke into the PA system. "A minor power outage. I have people already on it."

The shouts throughout the building gradually quietened down, the main noise emanating from the cell to Braun's right. Gretchen threw herself against the door repeatedly, screaming incoherently at the two on the other side of the cell. The devil in the gateway tapped on the viewing window.

"It's quite different on this side, I'll admit," Ferrea chuckled. "Certainly more open."

"I will come after you," Gretchen growled, stopping her assault to glower through at her nemesis.

"I'd be disappointed if you didn't," Lucy said, and meant it. "I guess you didn't need the money, huh Adyson?"

Adyson looked extremely sheepish as Gretchen turned to face her.

"You didn't think to mention this earlier?"

"Hey, it slipped my mind, I can't be expected to remember… Look, Gretch, I'm sorry, I genuinely didn't realise…"

"Yeah," Lucy tapped on the glass. "Don't treat her so harshly, Gretchen. She does try very hard. But now… now, it's time to say goodbye for now."

"This isn't a game!" Gretchen nearly shrieked, and Lucy giggled at the ridiculously powerless tantrum. "Braun! What have you done? You…"

Braun smiled, but his entire figure displayed sadness. For the first time Gretchen saw how pale the doctor had become, that he was no longer slightly overweight. The cancer was eating him directly before her, and he barely looked capable of standing. He was scuttling his own career, Gretchen realised, destroying his reputation and legacy and selling his soul to provide for his own family.

"Believe me, if this could have gone any other way, I would have helped Gretchen. Sandra doesn't even work, how would we afford treatment for me and my boy? He needs it. This money will provide better than I could."

Gretchen did not know what infuriated her more – the betrayal, or the hidden voice that told her she would have done the same for her mother, or Adyson. Lucy looked from Braun to Gretchen, smiling contentedly. Suddenly, she shot back, becoming increasingly excited.

"Okay, Mr Dr Braun, if you would be so kind…"

Braun nodded solemnly and typed something into the computer system, his eyes vacant as the power continued to short out for seconds at a time. As soon as he had done so, Gretchen heard the crashing din as every cell door in the complex swung open, an orchestra approaching the finale. Naturally, she realised, her door remained closed.

"Hello!" Ferrea cheerfully greeted her fellow escapees. "I did tell you you'd be repeat offenders. Why don't you have some fun and escape with me? I'm not going to wait for an answer by the way, I'm on a tight schedule." She sidled back up to Gretchen's door. "Bye-bye! See you soon! Braun!"

Braun sighed and pressed something, and with a click, the speaker system blared deafening classical music. Gretchen had no idea if it was concentrated into their cell, but it certainly seemed that way, completely overriding her senses and only fuelling the rage she had been building up. Futilely, she resumed her attack on the door, with Adyson half-heartedly attempting to help.

"_Freude, schöner Götterfunken, Tochter aus Elysium!"_

Lucy Ferrea waved her goodbyes and smirked triumphantly. Casually, she followed Braun, other convicts filing in. Some evidently had returned to their cells, but Ferrea had apparently been talking to several more, who dragged these defectors back into the open and forced them along.

"What is it now?" Gretchen snapped at Adyson, who had stopped throwing herself against the door.

"Well, Gretch, why are we attacking the door?"

"Are you blind!"

"Uh, Gretch…"

"What is it? Just spit it out for Christ's sake!"

"You still have Phineas' unlock-y-thingy."

Gretchen looked dumbfounded, and stood completely still for several long moments, marveling at her temporary stupidity. Rage had obviously blinded her to common sense in all its forms today. Rolling her eyes, she pulled Phineas' invention from her coat and focused it on the door.

"_Wir betreten feuertrunken, Himmlische, dein Heiligtum!"_

The click was inaudible over the cacophony Ferrea had created, but the door swung open and the two girls darted out into the corridor. The last few escapees that had not quite filed out looked bewildered as the two girls shot past them.

"Move along people, nothing to see here!" Adyson said as she passed them. "See you next Spring folks!"

"_Deine Zauber binden wieder, Was die Mode streng geteilt; Alle Menschen werden Brüder, Wo dein sanfter Flügel weilt!"_

Gretchen burst out into the main entrance, nearly bowling over a security guard who was in the process of restraining another escaping prisoner. The other guards were doing much the same, having recovered from their initial confusion, and it looked as if the police had been informed, although Gretchen knew that it would take too long for them to respond.

"Fenris!" Gretchen yelled instinctively.

"Now come on," came Lucy's reply. "He's my dog, not yours."

Lucy was leaning against Braun's car, ruffling an overjoyed Labrador's ears, her own face lit up beyond all recognition. Without another word, Ferrea opened the door and Fenris leapt inside, never once even thinking of looking back at Gretchen. It was Adyson who acted first, sprinting forward with little thought. Ferrea had already hopped into the passenger's seat, and the rapidly reversing car clipped its would-be attacker as it turned, sending her several feet backwards to land on her rear.

"Ow," Adyson muttered. "Please tell me nobody saw that."

Gretchen immediately heaved her friend to her feet, and hauled her towards her car.

"Come on, after them!" Gretchen yelled. "For once, we need your crazy driving!"

Adyson stumbled over and nearly wrenched the car door open, with Gretchen diving into her seat, screaming her next orders. Adyson thought to herself that this would be her first car-chase, and everyone was going to hear about how awesome it had been. As dramatically as she could, she slammed the key in the ignition and instantly burst forward, her foot all the way down to the floor.

The car drove for approximately 2.56 seconds before all four tires burst and it skidded to a halt at the other end of the car park.

Gretchen let out a snarl and bolted from the car, futilely chasing after Braun's departed vehicle. Adyson looked around in confusion, before finally noticing the note that was taped to the windshield in Ferrea's handwriting.

_Dear me, Miss Sweetwater, dear me._

Adyson rushed out after Gretchen, but she knew already that the case was lost. Outside of the detention centre, the road was deserted, brief tire tracks displaying where Braun had once been. Gretchen stood on the tarmac, fists clenched, powerless and speechless. Slowly, she reached up and removed her glasses, before turning towards Adyson. Instead of anger though, Adyson only saw hurt in Gretchen's deceptively bright blue eyes.

"She's not gone, is she?" Gretchen said.

Adyson chuckled, which quickly developed into a full-blown laugh. At first uncertain, Gretchen soon began to echo her friend, and the two girls stood roaring with laughter in the night sky, with distant sirens wailing ever closer.

"You sounded… so pitiful…" Adyson choked.

Gretchen barely managed to articulate herself between giggles. "You're right… of course she'll be back. What… what else does she have to do?"

* * *

_Gretchen. You won years ago, or so you thought. So is this a new game we're playing, or the same one? When I talked to Braun I realised something – with my money, I could have walked out anytime I wanted. And yet, I felt that I had to include you somehow. It didn't seem right without you._

_I am not entirely adept with expressions, but this all begins with a Frenchman. He wrote a book, published in 1938, and his idea, his philosophy, was that nothing exists only slightly. A human being exists as much as, and is as meaningful as, the smallest rock, the largest tree. There are no gods, no great mysterious force, and no control. Everything functions, devoid of meaning but not of purpose. So as humans, if our actions are meaningless, then the only source of meaning is in our actions._

_My life is worth living. But I have no purpose to give it._

_Rapture is gone. It would be senseless to repeat it. I cannot return to the children's home, or Isabella's, or the Fireside Girls. Smile Away is gone, never to return. And despite all of this, Lucy Ferrea has returned._

_That's it. I find similes and metaphors overlapping and confusing, but… it feels as if I've been asleep these past few years. Why have I come back? Because I have discovered a purpose._

_My purpose, Gretchen, is you._

_Look at you. You're more polite, if not by much, you're more aware of others, but there's still that desire deep down, the need to match intellects with someone. Your little adventures may make you morally bankrupt, but they make you happy. _

_Your mother is dying. Maybe not yet physically, but it's haunted you for years and now it's getting worse. Like Rains, there is something about you, something off. There is something about your history with your parents that I cannot comprehend. It isolates you, from everyone._

_And then there's me. We're equals, debatably (I did just win, after all) and we understand each other better than anyone else. My purpose… I do not like to phrase it this way, but my purpose is to make you happy Gretchen. A nemesis – like the OWCA, I'm someone to confront, fight, struggle with on a regular basis. You can keep the stability you've established with your life, and you'll get the conflict you crave._

_It's okay for me to be here._

_Lucy Ferrea has control again. No longer a prisoner. No longer a fool. Ready to make her own way, unlike the ordinary people. _

Lucy Ferrea stood out in the open air, turning her head ever so slightly with each breeze. Her left hand ran through Fenris' black fur, and the dog sat with rapt attention, gazing adoringly up at his original owner. In the distance, she heard Braun's car engine start back up and fade away into the distance – the doctor had his money, and would soon be gone from the world.

"It started like this, didn't it Fenris? Just us and the world. Well, the whole group. Thunderbolts."

She sat down and lay back in the dust, gazing up - midnight, the stars and her. In her mind they were there with her.

"_You know, the, ah, time it takes for starlight to reach us, the stars we're looking at could be dead."_

"_So we're looking into the past?" _

"_I guess."_

Lucy stretched out lazily, smiling, her red hair splayed out behind her. Fenris curled up beside her, and the two sat there in the company of the dead, ready to return to the great game when morning came. Green eyes reflected tiny blue stars.

"I can't wait," said Lucy Ferrea, and drifted into sleep.

* * *

Adyson's street stood strangely deserted – many of the inhabitants were inside, fixed to their television screens. Some people of Danville still believed that they could hear Ferrea's voice whispering through the Rapture units, and as long ago as the invasion had been, the people still remembered. Currently, the media was whipping up a frenzy, especially since it emerged that Morty Williams' film crew had obtained footage just hours before Ferrea's escape.

Everyone was so enraptured and enraged by events that no one even noticed the gunshots except Adyson, who burst into Gretchen's attic room immediately.

"Gretchen! What are you doing?"

Gretchen wordlessly continued to fire the gun into the wall, leaving the distinct initials 'GS' imprinted in the plaster. She was half-sunk into the couch, curiously not in her usual gargoyle position, and looked oddly tired for her current activity. Groaning, she turned to Adyson and gestured towards the television.

"Braun's dead. Shot himself two miles out."

Adyson registered the news, but could not bring herself to feel either sadness or relief – Braun had made his choices, and she was not sure whether or not the negative was outweighed by the genuine care that had catalysed events. Wisely, she decided not to question Gretchen's redecoration of her room.

"Did he get the money?"

"Of course he did," Gretchen muttered. "If he hadn't, there would have been two corpses instead of one. Lucy may be a liar, but she knows when to tell the truth."

"Time to go after her yet?"

In a brief flash, the corners of Gretchen's mouth twitched upward. "Not yet. Give her some time, and then we'll play the game again."

Adyson managed to squeeze into a space in which she could view the television, before realizing with some sadness that she no longer had to squeeze in – Fenris was gone, and she already missed the Labrador. Ordinarily, he would have crawled towards her in order to get his ears scratched. The house actually seemed rather vacant without the dog, even if he had not been hers in the first place.

"Don't you think it's inconsiderate?"

"Hurm?"

Adyson struggled to articulate, but managed to convey the gist of it. "People might not – well, they won't – take kindly to this. It's just a game to the two of you, but…"

"No," said Gretchen. "It's not inconsiderate. It's _immoral_."

"That's… that's not a good thing, Gretch."

"Yes, I am aware. But consider this – Ferrea can never truly leave. If she does, she'll be hounded down easily. In fact, the only reason she has not already been apprehended is this."

Gretchen drew a crumpled letter from her pocket. Adyson glanced over the official-looking type, a business letter with no trace of informality. It was obvious what it was though – a legitimate letter of endorsement.

_Miss Kriemhild, _

_Your 'NEMESIS' application has been registered. We at the OWCA, we regret to admit, are only in the business of employing animals for positions of such duties (please do not enquire as to why). However, the personal 'NEMESIS' application is official proof of your ongoing battle with your new arch-enemy, who will from now on be registered as a super-villain, if you selected this option._

_KRIEMHILD, GRETCHEN is hereby bestowed with the singular authority to pursue, engage and arrest FERREA, LUCY. The recipient reserves the right to follow legal action against any law enforcement or private citizen that interferes in a way in which is felt to be detrimental to the nemesis relationship._

_Additional: SWEETWATER, ADYSON has been registered under the optional title of 'smart-mouthed, fast-talking sidekick'. If you believe this to be in error, please contact OWCA at [REDACTED]. If, for any reason, this address appears to be illegible, other locations eligible include [REDACTED], [PROPERTY OF OWCA], [OPERATION BLACKBRIAR]._

_Yours sincerely, Major Francis Monogram_

"Well, I guess you can't argue with that logic," Adyson shrugged. "Actually, it's not logical at all. Which is exactly my kind of logic!"

"I thought you might say that. I picked the course of action which preserved the status quo."

"While I am the most likable character," Adyson said, having completely forgotten Gretchen and her doubts by now, "I don't think I should be sidekick. Are we Gretchen and Adyson, or Adyson and Gretchen? I want a fedora actually, OWCA have fedoras. Actually, I want a gold toilet, not for practical purposes, but just so that I can say, 'hey! I've got a…"

"Adyson."

"What?"

Gretchen rolled her eyes, unseen behind glinting lenses. It had been well played – it never took much to distract Adyson from the dubious nature of a situation. Gretchen did recognize the immorality at play, but she had come to the conclusion that it was required. She could keep the situation under control, couldn't she? After all, they had been playing this game for a while.

"Gretchen, I have a question."

"What's that Adyson?"

"Isn't there a loose thread here?"

"Hurm. Perhaps. Eh, jog my memory please."

"Who created the kink meme?"

* * *

Lightning flashed and thunder boomed over Toronto, striping across the thick blue hide of the sky. The streets were empty, vehicles reduced to the occasional fleeting presence, with the whip crack of the weather and the constant drumming of rain providing the only soundtrack to such an image. Blown by silent winds, the blanket of rain coiled around the building, another flash of lightning illuminating the building, and briefly framing the figure within in an expressionist silhouette.

Matching the drumming of rain was the repetitive hammering of fingers on a keyboard, relentlessly working. The figure sat hunched over the computer, the light from the monitor blocked out by his vast width and height. The giant gleefully continued to type away, cackling madly with each completed sentence and flash of lightning. When he reached the ending, his cackles developed into a full-blown maniacal laugh.

"And then," crowed Bob as he typed the final sentence, "Ironside finally achieved his dream – he was engaged to Ducky Mo-Mo."

Triumphant laughter was audible across the land.

* * *

**Lucy's escape is the real focus of this story – she has won, and what comes after is mostly just helpless floundering. By the way, a possible spoiler was there from the start, although it would have been near impossible to figure it out. The first volume of the Lucifer** **comic is called 'Lucifer: Devil In The Gateway'. Lucy Ferrea: Devil In The Gateway. Geddit? Not very good, I admit, but that's how my mind works.**

**It was not intentional, but Braun's motives are very similar to those of Walter White, the central character in Breaking Bad. Ferrea's fear of adult prison is inspired by Kevin's similar discomfort in We Need To Talk About Kevin. Arthur Leigh Guillam is a twofer – Arthur Leigh Allen was the main suspect for the Zodiac killer, while Guillam is a reference to Peter Guillam, of Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy, whose actor is now BBC's Sherlock Holmes, which had a big impact on this story.**

**Ferrea's breakout song (Ode to Joy) went through a couple of different changes – first it was the 1812 Overture, then Mr Blue Sky, and then Goodbye So Soon (as sung by Vincent Price).**

**Apologies, but lateness really was unavoidable – I'll still update this Sunday though. See ya.**


	10. Summer Belongs To Us!

The skyline of Tokyo was curiously marred by the presence of an unusually large water balloon, suspended from the city's most famous tower. As with people in all parts in the world, the locals had assumed that _someone _knew why it was necessary, and had stopped looking at it with their initial interest. Nearby, Mr Nagisa caught sight of it for the first time. An amusing distraction, but ultimately not enough to distract him from the current situation.

"Mr Nagisa, I would advise you to…"

Nagisa waved his hand at the waiter, being rather rude unintentionally. He scanned his restaurant shrewdly – several businessmen, tourists, some children both foreign and local. None of them appeared to be American businessmen, as far as he was aware. The restaurant was Nagisa's primary source of income, but it was not the only one. The monocane manufactured in the basement was profitable, but extremely illegal and hazardous to produce. Suddenly, he called the waiter back over.

"I want you to look out for any suited foreigners… No, actually, listen for American accents. We need to be cautious."

The waiter nodded, though his shaking limbs betrayed his uncertainty. "We should not have cut them off so quickly."

"Don't you think I know that? At least we don't owe them money, they'll probably pay us to shut us up. Just in ca…"

There was a clatter of plates as the occupants of one the booths rose, a reflection of light revealing the gun barrels. The two were nearly identical – the only distinguishing factor in appearance was the contrast in hair length. Both looked eerily calm and professional. Both of them looked about eleven years old.

"Everybody, ah, stay cool, this is just a shakedown!"

"Any of you fucken pricks move, and I'll execute every motherfucken last one of ya!"

* * *

**Daniel & Simon Wales**

**In**

**Summer Belongs To Us!**

**An Educational Story On The Countries And Cities Of The World**

* * *

"Well Tokyo's a shitehole."

"Tokyo is _not_ a shitehole."

"Look, there's a water balloon hanging like a dangleberry from that big dick monument over there. Prove my point?"

28 rolled his eyes and walked on, hands in his coat but strategically away from the handle of his concealed guns. His fingers briefly skimmed over the bible he carried at all times, as well as assorted extracts of poems, stories and histories that he had managed to pilfer over time. His twin was rubbing his hands furiously, attempting to clean the blood from his knuckles. Mr Nagisa would be thinking deeply before attempting to retract his business in such a rash way again.

While obviously not local, the twins looked like the perfect image of the children of some overenthusiastic tourists – or at least, 28, with his ponytail, jeans and camera did. 27 had elected to wear all black, with an untied white scarf draped over his shoulders, his eyes covered by sunglasses. 28 had neglected to tell his brother that this looked very strange. This may have been the reason that several groups of girls kept taking photographs of the two.

"Be culturally sensitive…"

"It's a giant balloon! It's not like it's a cultural centrepiece!"

"Just be more polite… and, uh, less obnoxious."

27 groaned. Usually on the job, the twins gathered money by using the age-old method of 'Here, mister, want us to look after your car?', with the added politeness indicating that it was a very nice car indeed, and it would be a shame if something happened to it. Tokyo was too hectic for this though, and so he had made no money at all, despite his hopes. With annoyance, he turned to see 28 suddenly talking to a shy looking girl in the middle of the street.

"What're you doing?"

"I'm just making friends, this is…"

"Sorry to cut in," 27 snapped. "He's a catcher anyway, sayonara."

28 made an apologetic glance as he was pulled along the street by his brother, who was increasingly likely to suddenly explode into a jumble of swearwords at any moment.

"What the hell. Seriously. We look near enough the fucken same, but do I get swarmed by girls? What happened to twin threesome fantasies? …Wow, maybe I shouldn't listen to Rains."

"Maybe you should, uh, act less… you know?"

"Fuck's that mean?"

"We might look similar, but you know… Uh, you've used the f-word seventy-three times today, and numerous s-words, and the c-word, and you called a taxi driver a chode…"

"So? I can't help it."

At the age of five, 27 had accidentally ingested The Big Book of Swearing, and through some seriously flimsy science, it had been absorbed into his consciousness. At least, that was how the story was told.

"So, maybe if you were nicer to people, more of them would approach you. You do have a babel fish by the way; they know what you're saying."

"Ah fuck it. I'm using the skyhook. Can't stand another Caramelldansen anyway."

"Fine, have it your way."

From under his coat, 27 drew out a bizarre contraption that fit against his arm like a brace, ending in a short handle and trigger held in his grip. The twins slunk into a nearby alley, not exactly wishing for their new fans to obtain photographic evidence of their departure.

"Where next?"

"Uh, Nepal I think," 28 said, scanning a crumpled list. "Ah, not quite – it's a rubber band factory in the Himalayas."

"Bloody hell," 27 muttered, and fired the skyhook.

Reportedly developed during the Cold War by the CIA, the skyhook was intended to offer quick extraction for agents in the field. The magnetic claw would hand suspended by glider until it attached itself to passing aircraft. The twins' personal jet was due to fly over in five minutes, an expense that the investors had amazingly dismissed as trivial in the grand scale of things.

Firing upwards with a roar of steel wire and cord, the skyhook was nicely camouflaged in the Tokyo skyline, despite the heights it reached. 27 readied himself in waiting, while 28 shakily attached himself to their harness. The autodidact thought to himself that this would likely be the most bizarre picture taken of them yet, so discretion for the sake of his own pride would have to be taken into account as much as security.

"Just a couple of minutes, and…"

"Hey, the giant water balloon's moving!"

"Really, what the… Jaysis!"

The sound of a jet engine bellowed over the rest of 27's panicked swearing. The vehicle passing overhead was flying low, and was most certainly not their jet. As was typical of their luck, the skyhook immediately attached itself to this unidentified aircraft. 28 had enough time to briefly say 'ah', while his brother muttered 'shit', before the twins were thrown up into the air as if they were on the end of a giant whip.

The Sun-Beater 3000 blasted across the city, its passengers blissfully unaware of the extra weight they were suddenly carrying. They were surprised when a teenage girl landed on the windshield, and granted her entrance, but the unintentional stowaways below went unheeded.

"Slow down! Land or something! We're on a…" 28 could barely hear the words as they left his mouth, drowned out by the engines.

"That's it," 27 muttered, and began to pull himself up the steel cord. "These Fenians have had it."

"Have you ever actually met a Catholic?"

"What?"

"HAVE YOU EVER… nevermind."

Miraculously, they managed to avoid hitting buildings that would have served as titanic fly-swatters, but the twins realised with horror that Tokyo was rapidly disappearing into the distance.

"Jesus, this thing goes fast! HEY DRIVER, CAN YOU LET US DOWN?"

"They can't hear us!"

"What?"

"I SAID THEY CAN'T HEAR US!"

27 growled something that was offensive to just about every single person on the planet and beyond, and reached into his jacket to retrieve his Berettas. 28 grabbed his brother's arm, foreseeing at least seven ways in which things could go horribly wrong. 27 did not pay attention however, and fired wildly with his free hand. At least one bullet struck the hull of the Sun-Beater, but there was no change in their unwanted journey. Slowly though, the engine seemed to quieten, to the extent that the twins were able to hear the passengers within.

"What's that?"  
**"**Uh oh, we didn't calculate for the weight of an extra body."

"Or the bullets," 28 said dryly.  
"Will this affect our arrival in Paris?"  
**"**Hmm... let me let you know in about two seconds."

"Why would you go to Paris? If I wanted to get in a baguette tossing competition, I'd…"

"SEVEN DROP NOW!" 28 shrieked.

27 turned his head to chastise his brother, when he saw what was happening. The Sun-Beater was on a direct course with the summit of a mountain, with no indication of a swerve. Immediately, 27 retracted the skyhook, and the twins dropped diagonally through the air, still heading towards the cliff face. 28 tugged desperately on the harness cord until the parachute finally erupted from the back, lifting the twins just over the top of the mountain.

"Thankfully, the uh, laws of physics do not apply to this universe."

"Ha! Look at those bastards, they crashed!"

"…Why is our parachute the Ulster flag?"

"Did you want a fucken Republic flag, you gutch?"

"Can we not have a normal parachute? Factory ahoy!"

They were indeed descending towards a vast grey roof, tucked discreetly among the mountains for unfathomable reasons. Below them, the passengers of the Sun-Beater were trudging up to the factory door, leaving two behind at the crash site. 27 noted with disappointment that none of them seemed to be injured. Silently, the twins landed on the roof and detached the parachute easily.

"So, who we after?"

28 checked his list. "One of the 'dancers' apparently."

"Why?"

"According to this, he's a terrible dancer. There's also some stuff about, ah, economics and such."

27 thought to himself. "Those kids are in there too."

"So?"

"So, we'll get them all with one stone."

"You can't be thinking of… No."

"Yes. I'm bringing it out."

"It's too dangerous too…"

"Too late. I'm bringing out the Compensator."

From beneath his coat, 27 drew a huge metallic shape, folded and fitted so it was able to be lifted. The size of a small suitcase, it had been attached to the harness for most of the journey. 28 swallowed nervously as it began to release itself from its restrictions – he could not think of it as anything but a monster escaping from a cage. 27 grinned, beholding the unfolding monstrosity, until it began to take shape – a massive revolver, a ridiculously proportioned barrel creating a weapon that could only be wielded by two people.

The sound of music from within the factory was rather confusing to the twins, but they dropped in through a maintenance door and were unable to witness the bizarre musical number. Shuffling along narrow beams, they made their way into the main floor, the music ending just as they entered.

From the vantage point, 28 could see the group of children talking to a lanky bearded man, apparently the factory owner. In the time it took them to set up the Compensator however, the children had moved out, rolling what appeared to be a gigantic ball composed entirely of rubber bands.

"Damn it. Have to just get the target," 27 said, setting the barrel over his brother's shoulder.

"The recoil, ah, how bad?"

27 shrugged. "There's nothing we can't handle. Three, two, one…"

The Compensator fired, and the rest of the world was relegated to the backseats as a bullet reminiscent of an artillery shell delivered pure force upon the factory. The target was not hit, however, the bullet delved directly into the manufacturing sector, tearing through numerous constructs of rubber bands.

There was a short pause.

Rubber bands snapped and flew quite literally everywhere in the factory, whipping around corners and up towards ceilings, severing anything in their path. The twins themselves were blown back into the maintenance shaft by the force of the recoil, narrowly avoiding an embarrassing decapitation by rubber band.

"I warned you! I warned you!"

"JAYSIS-SHITE-ENCRUSTED-!" 27 began, before having to jump over a blood splattered band that had lashed towards them.

Panicked screams were audible from within the factory, and 28 grabbed his brother's arm and sprinted towards the exit before they ended up joining the dead. Rushing out into the cold, they were just in time to witness the Sun-Beater bounce across the mountain range in the distance, borne on a huge rubber ball.

"Buggery fuck!" 27 yelled. "We're getting those bastards!"

"But the list…"

27 grabbed the hit-list and tore it up in a fit of rage. "After them!"

"We're on foot!"

A dubious miracle elected that moment to present itself – slowly, a hovercraft rose from the snow, one of the three passengers looking very much like a platypus in a fedora. Realising the time for swearing was past, 27 wordlessly seized his brother and launched the skyhook, almost tearing off his own arm in the process.

"We can't do this…" muttered 28, almost deliriously.

"What do you mean- AW, FOR CHRIST'S SAKE!"

28, buffeted about by wind and cold, had vomited all over the harness in his completely bewildered state. The adrenaline still pounding, he looked utterly confused. 27 rubbed his Beretta against his forehead recklessly, and swore when he remembered that they had left the Compensator.

The hovercraft took no note of the new passengers, but continued to rapidly chase after the Sun-Beater, crossing borders with more than impressive speed. 28 displayed annoyance at the route the Sun-Beater was taking to Paris – they seemed to go back and forward whenever it occurred to them. They would go from China, to India, to Italy, with no apparent reason for such a stupid choice of direction.

"Heh, stop tickling my leg," 28 said suddenly, as a church tower became visible ahead.

"I'm not touching your leg, we're not _that_ type of twins."

"Wait, then – AHHH!"

"NANG-NANG-NANG!" screamed the thing that was trying to chew on 28's leg.

"What the actual fuck!" Gunshots rang out across the Belgian skyline, but the magical old-timey bathing suit could not be deterred.

"Get us outgetusoutgetusout!" 28 repeated frantically, reaching for his brother's arm.

"No, don't do-!"

28 released the skyhook and the twins flew through the air yet again, this time lacking a parachute. Fortunately, the church spire was little more than two feet away, and the double harness was caught on the spike. The Klimpaloon made one last effort to tear at 28's leg, before plummeting out of sight with a final 'NANG-NANG-NANG'. The twins dangled there on the church spire helplessly for some time before 27 spoke.

"You fucken pansy-faggot-retarded-Catholic-wanker-gunsel-yellow-poofter-bumboy-Scottish-cock-John Lennon-American-arsewipe!"

"…I think there's a couple of minority groups you missed there, ah, I'll let you start again if you want."

27 shot a venomous look at his twin which quickly degraded into one of amusement. "Ha… Jeez, what a fucken day."

"Yeah, you're right."

Below, people were beginning to point and stare at the stuck boys, with many taking the opportunity to record it.

"Where are we?"

"Bruges, I think."

"Where the fuck is Bruges?"

"It's in Belgium."

"Fucken Bruges."

After ten minutes, a fire engine was visible below, and people could be heard moving about in the tower. 27 looked at the sun setting and wondered if his new enemies had reached Paris.

"Hey, Eight?"

"Hmm?"

"I didn't mean that shit. It's… It used to be just us. Why am I the only one who stayed the same?"

28 stared at his feet. "We, ah, we used to be identical, I know. So we changed, we made friends. You're still my fucken brother."

27 could barely speak from shock, before smiling and leaning his head back against the spire. "I better get us out of here. Don't have the contact for the jet, I'll just contact Smile Away."

"Seven?"

"Hmm?"

"Where did that Sun-Beater thing come from?"

"I have no goddamn idea."

* * *

Within the Smile Away Reformatory School, a red telephone rang sharply. Hesitantly, a hand made to pick it up.

"Hello?"

"_Will you accept a collect call from –_ fucken Bruges -_?"_

"Yeah, okay."

The voice that crackled through was obviously irritated, with a hint of desperation. The receiver listened curiously, amusement beginning to flicker into consciousness. He said nothing as the whole story unfolded before his ears.

"_We're stuck in Bruges, we need you to get the jet sent here!"_

"Nah."

"_Wait a minute – RAINS! RAINS, IF YOU HANG UP I WILL-!"_

Thomas placed the phone down without another word, and chuckled to himself, before unplugging the phone. Stretching and grinning like a Cheshire cat, he made his exit from Ironside's empty office, overjoyed that he had managed to make 27's day even worse than it already was.

* * *

**This is probably the stupidest thing I have ever written, but I still love it. Especially given how grim things usually are, there's something really fun about writing the completely ridiculous.**

**The manner in which the title of the chapter appears after that dialogue is a Pulp Fiction reference so obvious there's little point in not acknowledging it. The skyhook is slightly harder, so I'll let you figure it out yourselves. And In Bruges gets a couple of references all over the place – it's a great film by the way.**

**Next week – 'Ohio Flynn And The Children's Crusade', a sort of Apocalypse Now style retrieval of a missing explorer. But it's me who's writing it, so things will be messed up. See you later.**


	11. Ohio Flynn and the Children's Crusade P1

**Ohio Flynn and the Children's Crusade**

**Part I – Loads and Loads of Characters**

* * *

_1919_

It was summer in London, and it heralded the typical aspects of British weather – the city was doused in torrential rain, an incessant drumming that indoctrinated the inhabitants to its presence. Fedoras, when soaked by such weather, look less than impressive, and Ohio Flynn was intensely aware of this fact. In terms of etiquette, he found himself between Scylla and Charybdis – the choice was either face a soggy hat, or be forced to run from the cab in a much undignified manner until he reached the cathedral.

He chose the latter, and Rhode Island Fletcher followed after, wisely raising an umbrella for himself. When the two burst through the huge oaken doors of the cathedral, Ohio resembled a scraggly half-drowned bird, while Fletcher calmly lowered his umbrella, perfectly dry.

"You could have told me," Ohio muttered, but he only received a smirk in response.

It was quite remarkable how often cathedrals ended up looking green on the interior, resembling dimly lit caves with high ceilings. The stained glass windows displayed little colour in the weather, and the rain slamming against the glass made it appear as if several of the characters depicted were crying. Ohio was not a superstitious or even religious man, but the image was unsettling. And that meant the worst type of client – the kind who wanted to display their power, choosing the location, the time, the civility.

"Five hundred."

Both men searched for the owner of the voice, and witnessed the emergence of several people above them, looking down over the parapet. The faces disappeared as the group began to wind their way down the spiral steps to arrive before Flynn and Fletcher as a strict unit.

"I beg your pardon?" Ohio asked.

"Five hundred pounds," said the voice again. The accent was strong, evidently from one of the southern part of the United States. "That's how much it cost to arrange this meeting. It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr Flynn, Mr Fletcher."

The speaker stepped from behind the group, and Ohio stopped himself from recoiling – the man's face was horribly scarred, the flesh stretched on one side, as if there was not enough to cover his body. A hat, dark sunglasses and a sweeping coat minimised the effect, but the twisted mouth was fully visible, and incredibly off-putting. It warped into a smile – the man only had to lift one side of his mouth, the other side being pulled into a permanent smile.

"Mr Huo has been looking forward to this meeting."

"Grandfather?" Fletcher said with a shock.

Professor Reginald Fletcher descended the steps behind everyone else, knees creaking with age, but back held with the remains of great strength and power.

"Ferb, my boy!" He tightly hugged his bewildered grandson.

"Ferb?" said Ohio, stifling an outright guffaw. Fletcher narrowed his eyes but did not reply.

"We've never met," said the professor. "But from that, I'll warrant you know who I am."

"Yes sir. Ohio Flynn at your service."

Reginald waved his hand dismissively and hobbled into one of the pews, face washed with the relief of a momentarily lifted ache. Ohio looked at the rest of the group – Huo in his black, government-like attire, flanked by two scholarly types who had obviously accompanied the professor. Behind them was a young woman dressed in a similar fashion to Huo, a pretty redhead who smiled to herself and was quiet.

"Sit down boys, I don't want to keep craning my neck. Comfortable? Good." The old man held out his hand, snapping his fingers impatiently until one of the scholars rushed over and handed him a heavy file. "I apologise for the location boys, but this is a very discreet matter."

_Discreet maybe, _Ohio thought, _but you still wanted to show us who was in charge. I'm a man, not a boy. _

Reginald flicked the file open and gestured towards the first page. Behind them, Huo opened a watch on a chain, listening as soft musical chimes filled the air. The young woman walked among the pews until she reached the altar, where she ran her fingers along the cloth in a way that made Ohio slightly uneasy.

"His name's Ironside," said Reginald, regaining Ohio's attention. "His real name's Cyrus Leighley actually, but that's what we called him – Old Ironside. Tough bastard, fought twice against those ingrates in South Africa."

The man in the picture was clean-shaven, which Ohio thought was rare in the older generation, evidently towering and height and with a vast powerful build to match. The photograph displayed him standing on grassland, his regiment standing proudly in the background. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes seemed determined, staring defiantly into the camera as if it were an enemy weapon.

"Looks like he has something against the photographer."

"He looks like that all the time," said the woman, lounging back on the altar.

"Miss Ferrea, I don't think you should do that…" Huo said uncertainly.

Reginald snapped his fingers again and the two fell silent. The old man eyeballed the entire group, before continuing his explanation. "When we went up against those sauerkrauts, he went on his own expedition – past conscription age, no point in returning to the service y'see. Was going to study the indigenous peoples."

"And let me guess," Ohio ventured smugly. "You never heard from him again?"

Reginald made an irritated guttural noise that prompted Ohio to lean away. "Not quite, boy, not quite. There have been disturbing reports coming out of…"

"Darkest Africa?" Ohio could not resist one last jibe.

Reginald's cane swung with far greater strength than Flynn had expected of the old man. Nursing a freshly bruised shin, he hissed his pain and focused. 'Ferb' did not laugh, retaining the wary look towards his grandfather.

"Australia," growled Reginald. "The university was stretched during the war, we could only track him afterwards. Chilling reports, boy. Have you heard of the Stolen Children?"

"No."

"The Australian government," Huo interrupted, "have been taking the children of the Aboriginal population. They hope to eradicate an entire culture as we know it."

"Naturally, the parents have something to say about that," said Reginald, with a dark laugh. "Ironside went to study them. He betrayed them, but not to the government."

Ohio and Rhode Island leaned forward, enraptured by the chills running down their spines. Reginald removed his cracked monocle, his hands revealing the reports to the two adventurers, images of burnt out buildings and deserted camps. On at least one, a pile of bodies were piled together, scorched and blackened.

"Children are going missing m'boy. The government doesn't like it, the Aboriginals _really_ don't like it, and nobody knows what Ironside is doing. They all want him dead."

Ohio's confidence had flickered. "And we've to go rescue him?"

"If you can find him, boy. He's a member of this university, and I will not see him come to harm. Believe me, I grieve for those families, and I'll damn that government again and again, but you get Ironside out."

Rhode Island stayed seated, but Ohio shakily stood up, glancing towards the exit. The old man smiled, rows of nicotine-stained teeth bared in a face that was not reassuring in the slightest.

"I'm not going to aid his crimes. This man's a monster! Why would anyone…"

"Money," said Huo. "Outrageous amounts of it, sir."

The woman named Ferrea continued to stare up at the cathedral ceiling, tilting her head back to observe the crucifix behind her. "And Mr Flynn may have a more personal reason to go."

"True," said Reginald, and then more forcefully, "Sit down boy. It might interest you to know of the others that have gone on the hunt before you."

He shifted through several papers again, until he reached a sheet marked 'The Thunderbolt Expedition', with several photographs attached.

"Elliot Rains. You might have heard of him – that soldier who chased an injured tiger into a sewer in India, came out with its head. The Wales brothers – commonly known as Seven and Eight."

"Why?"

"Seven's a crack shot and a fast hand – the idea is that by the time he's fired six shots, he's already reloaded and is onto the seventh. Eight is simpler – he follows after Seven. Less dangerous in combat, but he's smart. Lastly, Robert Plainview – their heavy backup."

"How did they die?" asked Fletcher suddenly.

Reginald once again demonstrated that his smile was without humour. "They didn't. They vanished, boy, evaporated. But every so often you get a sighting – rumour has it they joined Ironside."

Ohio chuckled, matching Reginald's lack of goodwill within. "So, you expect me to take their failure as my challenge?"

"There was one other," Huo drawled, somewhat apologetically. "Not with the Thunderbolts. I believe you are acquainted with Miss Isabella Garcia-Shapiro?"

Flynn turned red as the image of various business cards flitted through his memory, a woman whose path he had crossed expedition after expedition. Nostalgia and polite embarrassment did not remain the dominant emotion for long however – the red turned dark as he ground his teeth together.

"Blackmail. You're blackmailing me?"

Ferrea sat up on the altar, rolling her head on its shoulders and gently rocking back and forth. "She volunteered, Mr Flynn. She didn't go missing though. We know where she is."

"Then get her out of there! You can't-!"

"You don't understand, boy," Reginald said. "We know where she is."

Ohio nearly leapt on the old man right there, desperate to punch and strike at any available opening, primal rage urging him to tear the man to pieces. And yet, somehow, the professor managed to frighten him in a way he had not felt before. Defeated, Ohio shrank his shoulders, before accepting with an air of defiance.

"Very well, Ohio and Rhode Island will go and retrieve this criminal. But we'll take Candace with us, and she'll report the whole mess!"

Reginald showed little care either way. "If you want. You'll not be alone, of course."

"Clearly, old man, you don't know how an expedition works-!"

"He means that Mr Huo and I will also be present," Ferrea said lazily.

"No room for tourists," Rhode Island snapped.

"We are quite aware of the specifics," Huo replied calmly, running the chain of his pocket watch through his fingers. "I took the liberty, if you'll pardon my suddenness, to select… _agreeable _guides. Two aboriginal gentlewomen, quite charming – Miss Kriemhild and Miss Sweetwater."

"So, a German, and what, an Englishwoman? Get actual locals, not more rubbernecking tourists!"

Huo raised his palms and waited for quiet. "Running with our discussion theme, as it were, our guides are what Professor Fletcher described as 'stolen children'. They won't know the land as well as their ex-relatives will, but it's as close as we could get."

"If we hire better guides, they're likely to try to kill Ironside. In the same vein, that's why we don't have a government or military escort, m'boy."

Ohio closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose in frustration. He would simply have paid a native guide enough to stay quiet, but apparently the university was determined to avoid any kind of leak whatsoever. Ohio fervently hoped that the two women could speak some languages other than English, as otherwise it looked like they would be deadweight on an already sunken ship.

"If she's there, there must be some angle she's getting at," Ohio found himself speaking before his brain caught up. "That's the only reason I'll go."

"Good," said Reginald, a hint of smug pleasure in his voice. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have to see a young woman about a child that had better not be mine."

The scholars departed with the wheezing old man. Usually, this would have been a moment for Fletcher to say something clever, and for Flynn to agree, but both were all too aware that their new companions were watching them with interest. Ohio wiped drying droplets of rain from his fedora and marched from the cathedral, uneasily noting that behind him there were three sets of footsteps in place of one.

* * *

The deafening roar of the patrons delighted Isabella, and she smirked lopsidedly as her opponent flopped to the floor, still reaching upwards for the next shot glass. Nodding as if it had been an actual challenge, she staggered from her chair and back over to the bar, slamming the bottle of whisky onto the counter. The barman eyed her through thick-rimmed glasses, before his smile spread.

"I told you…" she groaned.

"For a new arrival, that is quite impressive. Of course, I knew you were good, Miss Garcia-Shapiro. So I'm not surprised."

"How did you-?"

"Call me Irving. My little birds miss nothing, Miss Garcia-Shapiro. It would be rather poor if the information broker had no information, hurm?"

He removed the bottle from the counter and watched as the unconscious loser was dragged from the building by his drunkenly guffawing friends. The glass that he was 'polishing' could not possibly get any cleaner, and he realised that he was purposefully perpetuating a cliché just to get the woman at the bar to say something marketable.

"How much?"

"For information? Depends. I can't tell you if God exists."

"Ha ha," Isabella said unenthusiastically. "I'm looking for someone on the opposing side actually."

"Only one god, but plenty of devils, Miss."

"One in particular." She leaned forward conspiratorially, but her drunken behaviour betrayed any semblance of privacy. "Ironside."

Irving gave nothing away, turning and placing the shot glass inside the cabinet. Upon catching his reflection, he saw her glaring at him in the glass. She knew – she was continuing this drunken façade to see who else he supplied with information. She was cleverer than she looked (and than her business card had implied). Irving raised an eyebrow and cleared his throat.

"That's easy, Miss. He's on the Smiling Rock. Somewhere."

Isabella slid more paper money under the barman's nose, and he chuckled lightly at the confident smirk on her face. She had no idea of the people with whom she was getting involved.

"That's for a room."

"I gathered, Miss. It's dangerous to go hunting a fugitive alone."

"Yes." _Got you, _Irving thought, _you're waiting for others._

"Smiling Rock is hell on red earth, Miss Garcia-Shapiro. It's a desolate place – baked by the sun's wrath. If he's there, as people say, then he's within the rock itself. Caverns and pits, all in darkness. He may be dead, but I doubt it. Things come out of that place, Miss. Walking like children, but with no childhood to speak of. And in seconds, they're gone."

"Nice story," Isabella passed some more notes and stood up. "And what of previous searches?"

Irving gestured for more money before continuing. "The Thunderbolts headed up there, and came back down, pale and incoherent. One night, they rode off into the black. There have been sightings, but closer than Smiling Rock. Apparently, their leader went quite mad."

Isabella did not reply to this, and, after another attempted competition, was placed in her room, definitely drunk this time. Irving checked just to be sure. When he was certain, he slipped out the backdoor and went straight to the coop under the canopy. Scribbling furiously, he seized the dove and tied the message to its leg, before throwing it up into the air. Shortly afterwards, a speckled pigeon headed in the same direction, a longer journey in question.

* * *

At first part of the dying light, the white bird became visible against the red sky. The plains stretched into the sky, joined by an outcrop of rock squatted on a hill – red solely providing the colour palette for the land. The shrubs were grey and white, flaking from the harsh land like a scab. The sunlight reflected briefly off a sniper scope in the highest cluster, and the dove flew towards the hidden figures.

"You are magnificent," said an Irish voice, and hands reached out to provide the dove with a landing. "Beautiful specimen, don't you think?"

"There's another one," said the man's double, staring through the sniper scope, cigarette ash gathering in the crooks of his elbows. "It must be going to him."

Eight stroked the dove's head, allowing it to take seeds from his palm as he untied the note around its leg.

"Must be big. I'll tell…"

There was no need. A scramble of bushes provided one of the few sounds of the sunset as a man rose from the place in which he had apparently been sleeping. Nearly naked, his skin and hair were red from the dust, enveloping him in a slightly comical Mephistophelean light. Black eyes snapped open, and Elliot Rains approached the twins.

"What news then, little bird?"

Eight studied the scrap of paper. "There's a girl asking questions at, ah, Irving's place. Says there might be more."

"Heh," said Elliot. "Send him the money we owe him."

As the dove set back out towards its home, the three young men gazed out after it, until it disappeared into the red. There was something calming about the Australian sunset, at least to Eight – the warmth was much like a blanket over the world, and it instinctively made him drowsy.

"We're going to have to choose a fucken side here Rains," said Seven, taking another draw. "I'd bet my balls on it."

"Lots of new people on either side," Rains whispered, not entirely lucid.

"How beauteous mankind is," Eight quoted. "O brave new world, That has such people in't!"

"A little fucken naïve there, Simon."

"No," said Rains, flickering back into life. "It's not about how great people are, it's about the diversity of characters. We have the good, evil and everything in between, and we create a story with them. Heh. This'll be fun."

Seven rolled his eyes and returned to watching the landscape through his scope. The Smiling Rock was visible miles away, vast and ominous – a natural fortress concealing horrible sights. Dust was visible approaching their own camp, signalling Plainview's return from one of his supply runs.

"We have some time to prepare," Rains said joyfully. "Simon, come on. Need some entertainment."

"Yes sir."

Seven peered closer at the Smiling Rock and finally saw what he was looking for. The speckled pigeon set out from the caverns, message received. Seven grimaced as he realised what this meant. Ironside was watching.

* * *

**That many characters, and Candace, Ironside, Adyson and Gretchen have still to appear. Jaysis, that's a big list.**

**I don't know why Reginald became such a menacing sort of guy here, I think I was having a bit too much fun trying to make exposition interesting. And this chapter is a landfill worth of exposition, so thanks for sticking with it. Although in terms of exposition, I really enjoyed writing Irving's description of the Smiling Rock.**

'**Leighley' is a roundabout reference to Heart of Darkness – the cause of the expedition is named Kurtz. During the filming of Apocalypse Now, Marlon Brando briefly renamed Kurtz as Leighley, before changing his mind again.**

**Reginald's summary of Rains is yet another Sherlock Holmes reference – I'll leave the rest to you. Similarly, his first appearance, covered in red dust, is a particularly obscure reference, but to what? And, as usual, there are many others.**

**You might notice a difference in the description of Huo's scars. I noticed the similarity between his face and that of Kazundo Gohda of Ghost In The Shell: Stand Alone Complex, and nudged the scars to more closely mirror for my own amusement.**

**The downside of an older setting is that Seven is limited in his swearing – much to my sorrow, I can no longer use 'chode' or 'fud', 'wanker', 'bell-end' etc It's rather impractical for a marksman to smoke, but cut him some slack, he's not always professional.  
**

**Ah well, see you all next time!**


	12. On Watership Down

**On Watership Down**

_**All the world will be your enemy, Prince of a Thousand enemies. And whenever they catch you, they will kill you. But first they must catch you; digger, listener, runner, Prince with the swift warning. Be cunning, and your people will never be destroyed.**_

* * *

__Dead silence held the halls in an iron grip, but he was exempt. Everyone else benefitted from the quiet, everyone else would sleep soundly, everyone would be glad that for a few hours they would escape the horrors of their own existence. Everyone except him. The noise was infuriating – the slightest breath ricocheting off the bone walls of his skull, tormenting his thoughts. The tiny squeak of the bed sounded like a scream whenever he moved. The pain in his stomach, barely noticeable at first, had grown into a gnawing constant, rotting him from the inside.

The cold was almost as bad, wind whistling in through the floorboards. Most students had concrete, but no, apparently _his_ _room_ had to have been constructed with the thought and care of a favela. So what if he had tunnelled underneath these floorboards and was partly the cause of the draught? Anyway, _she _had ordered it that way, that smug, prideful spindly witch. It was her fault.

Not his fault.

The twins had departed earlier. Simon had seemed concerned about him. Simon was stupid – he didn't even know his name _was_ Simon. Although sometimes he wasn't Simon, sometimes he was Ferb.

Ferb Fletcher. The very cause of this entire situation, the reason for every single misfortune, of which there were many, that had befallen Thomas Rains ever since the selfish know-it-all had decided to move away. Did he not understand that Thomas was affected by these actions? Fletcher could be really cold sometimes, a real arrogant sociopath. Thomas had tried his best but…

_Late nights always bring this, _he thought. _I'm a philosopher at age… What age am I anyway? I bet Ferb knows, I bet he has a happy birthday every year. No, it can't be a happy birthday without me, I bet he's dead inside. Just deluding himself. A stepbrother can't replace me._

He lurched into the foetal position, retching to no avail. The bedcovers were paper-thin, even over his increasingly skeletal frame. The cold suddenly seemed decadent, replaced by an intense heat, drenching him in sweat. Grabbing his head, he groaned, arching his back in a cat-like fashion. It was like a constant drumbeat, or more, like horses galloping over cobbled streets. The pain got to be impossible to bear and he leapt from the bed, meeting the cold in a cleansing plunge into the real world.

Thomas tore at his uniform manically, casting the top into a heap beside his trench coat, determined to lose any trace of warmth. His berserk motions ceased as fingernails scraped over a faded scar. Twisting around, he looked blankly at the mark in his side, lined cuts that had been too close together to properly stitch.

_An anchor, _he thought. _God, I lie so often, it's weird to see something anchored to fact like this. I remember you._

A strange shiver ran through his body, not from the cold. Almost cautiously, he murmured to himself as he traced the scar again.

"This is from… This was one of the first."

Shuffling in clothes that had now been forgotten mid-removal, he approached the window, bathing the scar in the blue moonlight. He smiled slightly and remembered something he had long since repressed.

* * *

_Screaming and bawling does little. He is realising this, but he can't help himself, it's the only thing he can do. He can't move. They're the only ones in the house, but maybe someone passing by can overhear and rescue him._

_Even at this age, he isn't that optimistic. Who's going to hear a wailing child at the back of a big house? Still, he can't quite grasp these thoughts, and he continues to scream until his throat is dry and aching. It's pooling around him, sticking to his hands and face and caking there, making it harder to move his face. When he does, the stuff cracks and flakes back into the pool of its wet form. The stuff is so thick it barely splashes when he writhes against it._

_A panicked shriek as his writhing lands him on the razor, still facing upwards. In his panic, he becomes stuck even worse, the razor continually digging into his side, stinging and biting. He chokes as he turns, the red stuff flowing into his mouth. It's still gushing even after this time, or maybe he's causing it. It could have been hours, but it might have been minutes._

_His hair, the blond hair she loves to run her fingers through, it's red, and the red came from her, and her fingers aren't doing anything… _

"_Dad!" he screams as a last resort. Dad is the last person he wants to see, but maybe he could help, free him._

_He squirms and stretches, but she still won't move. At first, she was moving a lot, twitching and gurgling and flailing at her throat as the red stuff sprayed and flowed. He tried to hug her, because she was crying, and when he cries, she hugs him. She was heavy though, and she just fell forward, trapping him underneath._

_Then she twitched and jerked and tried to say something. She was looking at him, and she looked scared. Now she doesn't look anything at all, he thinks. Her eyes are still open, staring right at him, but they don't really say anything, and she won't blink. She must be really angry, because she always gets quiet and stares when she's angry, but never like this._

_He's angry too, because she won't reply to anything he says. She must know her weight hurts, but she still doesn't move. He yells again, but it hurts too much and he coughs and splutters into the pool, grabbing at her sweater. She carries him all the time, he always clings to this sweater and she calls him a little monkey. She doesn't get the hint that he wants to be carried though, still lies there stupidly._

_Through his tears, he gets it._

_She's trying to annoy him, like when he says her name over and over, trying to get attention. If he gets angry enough, or sees through the game, she'll start laughing and jump up. So he starts laughing, to prompt her laughter, because when you smile at people they have to smile back, even if they don't mean it. He keeps laughing, even though her weight hurts his chest and the red stuff laps at his eyes when he tilts his head back._

_He keeps laughing, because he knows she's joking._

_He keeps laughing, because she loves to see him smile._

_It's hysterical, he doesn't usually cry when he laughs, but he's doing it right now and he doesn't understand why. He can't articulate it, even to himself, but it he thinks she won't get up. He doubts she will._

_And yet he keeps laughing, even though he knows she can't hear._

* * *

"Heh. I guess I have a multiple-choice look at the past," he said, eyes downcast. "Well, I guess can-!"

The steel door was flung open, and Bob stood cheerfully in the entrance, despite the fact that it was three o'clock in the morning. Thomas wondered whether or not to shank the fat boy right there for such an irritation.

"Hey boss, there's a surprise for you!"

"It better be Lionel Ritchie's head on a pike…" grumbled the English boy, but he followed regardless, inwardly curious.

Smile Away's 'grey mile' of cells gave way as the two boys approached the main entrance, past the rooms for the younger children – garishly painted to provide humane photographs for possible clients. Another set of doors brought them through the playroom, where Thomas had gone on a rampage the previous week, owing to a strong dose of monocane and a belief that the younger children were psychic. Rains' curiosity ebbed away however as the main reception beckoned and Ironside stood before him.

"Why, what a surprise! Heh. If this is about the fox den, it wasn't me…"

The drill sergeant blew cigar smoke into the static moment, which only served to intensify Thomas' increasing anxiety. Ironside was not supposed to be here at this time of night, and his sudden commitment to overtime did not bode well. When he spoke, nothing was given away.

"Ferrea came to talk to me."

_Crap. The tunnel, he knows… Wait a minute, that was her idea! Berkley hunt!_

"As did Bob."

_Traito… Bob doesn't know about the tunnel, what's this about?_

"Your behaviour has disturbing reflections on your mental health Rains."

_Well, duh._

"While I remain convinced of the value of work and obedience over mindless 'creativity'… My daughter has persuaded me that a brief 'shore leave' is in order, so to speak."

…_That's it, I'm insane. He just said that. The marching hammers are going to come through that door any second. Well, sometimes I see them anyway…_

"You're joking sir? Heh, for a minute, I thought…"

"I'm not joking. Go before I change my mind."

Thomas looked around furtively before his black eyes widened in a cartoonish manner. "I'm going slaughter Ferb! I'll-!"

"You're not going to Danville. My daughter saw to it. There's a truck here to take you to the airport., where you will join the twins. They will bring you back here when they're done with work."

Thomas muttered something about Ferb into his sleeve before asking the dreaded, "Where are we going?"

"That's why Lucy and Bob suggested it. England, Rains. For a few days, you'll be home. Make sure you leave your insanity there where it belongs."

For once, Thomas did not speak. In fact, for once he could not even bring himself to laugh. He was indecisive about what could be more frightening – that either Lucy had control over her father, or that Ironside was attempting to grant some sort of relief, if only for a weekend.

* * *

"I'm not kidding Rains, you move out of that seat and I'll blast your fucken head off."

The taxi driver looked rather nonplussed, but then he probably did not think that 27 actually had a gun under his coat. Thomas barely reacted, ignoring both twins and electing to gaze out at the English countryside, faded and blue in the night. The stomach and head pains had intensified, and it took all his strength to prevent doubling over in front of his foul-mouthed rival.

"Going home," he said through gritted teeth. "Heh. I lived in Islington, where the hell are we?"

"Somewhere in Hampshire I think," said 28, sounding distant.

Thomas tapped his head against the cold glass and eyed the twins warily. They were becoming distinctive – when he had first met them, they had been virtually identical. Now 27 was trapped in his endless quest to become the star of a Hong Kong action movie, and 28 in his similarly endless quest to be of indeterminate gender.

"Well I'm ever upper-class high society," he sang quietly, immediately catching 27's attention. "God's gift to ballroom notoriety. And I always fill my ballroom, the event is never small. The social pages say I've got…"

"Watch it, ya fucken wank-stain…"

"Thomas, ah, perhaps you should…"

"The biggest balls of all! I've got big balls! I've got big balls! They're such big-!"

"STOP THE CAR!"

The driver was only too happy to oblige and the three found themselves trudging along the side of the country road, 27 fuming silently as Rains' grin hovered alongside him. Running a hand over the increasing pain in his stomach, Thomas suddenly leapt over a fence and waded through wet grass towards the hill in the distance. He noticed that neither twin voiced a complaint and followed him wordlessly.

_Things really are getting weird, _he thought, but the pain cut him off and he marched on.

* * *

"_Do you understand the metaphor of The Box?" asks the drill sergeant._

_He's too young to really grasp the concept of metaphors at all, but he nods anyway. The drill sergeant raises an eyebrow at him and explains, fully aware that he has been told a lie._

"_You are put in The Box to think inside the box. You learn to follow orders."_

"_I didn't think inside The Box. I thought with The Box."_

"_You understand Mr Travis could be brain-damaged? The Box is made of reinforced steel."_

_He thinks back to the fight, the initial scrap as the others crowded around, cheering for a fight. He remembers the panic in Mick Travis' face when the tables turned, smirks at the memory of eager faces morphing into horror. Travis had picked the fight, and he had dealt with the consequences. Assuming, of course, that the edge of The Box had not penetrated his skull. He thinks it did though, there was a funny smell._

"_Rains, you clearly don't know how lucky you are. If I had been your father, I would have killed you for what you did. Then again, had I been you, I would have killed him for what he did. So you're incompetent as well as unstable."_

"_Mick won't bother me anymore."_

_The drill sergeant smirks a little – he's impressed. The boy chuckles under his breath, an involuntary action that he's picked up through stress. Everyday he is strapped to machines, electrocuted, injected, displayed, experimented on until the creaking frame he calls a bed seems like the warmest, most comforting place in the world._

"_You have potential Rains. Try not to waste it."_

* * *

Thomas ducked under the pylon and scrambled onto the rising ground. Behind him, he began to feel a heat on his back from a rising sun, which distracted him from his chronic head and stomach problems momentarily. There was a fair distance until the summit, but even with the struggle he knew he would make it. Smirking, he angled his head as he climbed to look at 28.

"Why do you put such stock in me? Heh. You know I'm only using you."

28 flushed and nearly tumbled backwards down the hill. "I, ah, there, ah…"

"Aheh. I didn't mean that."

"Yes you did. You always mean it. That's what you do. You hit them, scream at them, ah, insult them, but when it looks like they'll leave, you pretend you were joking."

"That's how dad did it, that's how England does it, and it's worked out pretty well so far."

"And then you fucken do it all over again," said 27. "Do you see yourself as pathetic as everyone else does?"

Thomas swivelled briefly, locking furious eyes with 27, but his shoulders and eyes sank quickly as he processed the words. Glancing upwards, he realised he was near the summit, and nearly sprinted the last few metres, pain reducing him to all fours and resulting in a bizarre gallop until he finally reached it. Turning, he flopped onto the grass and let the early rays of sunshine hit his face.

"How does home feel, Mr Rains?" asked Ferrea.

"Heh, some company besides The Corrs over there, how nice," said Thomas, not bothering to face her. "I had thought I was dreaming, I guess this confirms it."

"Strange that you didn't think how absurd it all was," 28 said calmly, sitting down.

"Are you that fucken stupid?"

"I mean come on boss," Bob said cheerfully. "Would Ironside give anyone a vacation?"

Thomas viewed the landscape from his perch on Watership Down and sighed. _They're right, in the end. It's all a stupid dream, and I'm as pathetic as they say. They are me after all._

"Shouldn't I be waking up now? Heh."

The rest shrugged.

"Curiouser and curiouser," Thomas deadpanned.

"It's all a dream, but then, you could always think of this as your waking moment," said Ferrea. "Because you aren't lying."

Thomas laughed bitterly. It was true – they were just figments of his imagination, and anything they said was just his thoughts displaying what he secretly knew to be the truth. He seized at the damp grass surrounding him, gripping it to anchor himself. The gathering crowd gazed at him vacantly.

"Hate breeds hate," said Ironside, cigar smoke coiling around the single tree on Watership Down. "Bring a child up unloved and he will react with confusion when someone eventually reaches out to him."

"If Ferb hadn't made the attempt, none of this would have happened," Thomas said, looking up at the reddening sky.

"But you don't hate him," said Phineas, spreading his arms diplomatically. "You hate yourself."

"All you ever did was cause him pain!" Isabella snapped. "He tried to help and you took everything out on him!"

Thomas started to laugh again, but no sound came out. Shrinking at the now regular stab of pain, he clutched at his stomach, to meet with a wet sensation. Confusedly, he examined his hand and recognised the blood dripping from his fingers, pooling from his stomach and soaking the grass.

"I'm not just dreaming, am I? I'm dying."

"You didn't deserve to be loved," Isabella said, ready to strike him if he suddenly rose up. "Ferb wasn't the only one."

"I gave you a chance," said Phineas.

"We stuck around the whole time," the twins said simultaneously.

"No," Thomas said. "It was… it was too late by that point, don't you see?"

"Only now is it too late," said Ferrea. "Look at you. Look at what they made you give."

Thomas felt frustrated tears storm down his face and wondered almost absent-mindedly if they would dilute the blood. _It's true._

"Heheh… you're all just my imagination. In real life, there was no hope."

"You closed yourself off to prevent pain," said Ironside. "But you just made yourself into a tool, to be used and disposed of."

"How does it feel to be so alone?" Isabella growled.

"If I could have one more-!"

"Thomas, there's no more time," 28 said. "You wasted it all. None of us were in a great situation, but you had the potential to make the most of it."

"You were so obsessed and angry," said Bob. "You didn't even notice that you could have had other friends."

"Summers went by," said Phineas. "Christmases, Easters, birthdays… None of this was initially your fault, but you only made it worse."

"In the end, there is no debate between nature and nurture," Ironside said. "They are one and the same. Because all humans are inherently selfish and weak. You were never able to mature past that."

"See?" Thomas cried desperately. "Then even when Ferb showed up it was too late! Eight, help me! Bob! Don't let me go!"

28 looked at Thomas with remorse on his face, and looked close to tears when Thomas reached out, pitifully grasping. Bob did not even look at the crawling figure, dragging blood behind itself on the grass.

"Goodbye Thomas," said 28.

"Too late," said 27.

"But only just," said Ferrea.

"I'm sorry," said Bob.

The four of them disappeared in an instant as Thomas' vision began to worsen and Watership Down became ever more distant. Phineas shot one last pitying expression and disappeared alongside a hostile Isabella. Ironside gave a smirk and dropped his lit cigar into the blood, extinguishing it, before he too was gone, and it was Thomas alone. The boy glanced around himself, breathing ever more erratic. The sky above Watership Down was beginning to fade away. Memories flashed by too quickly to be remembered.

_The boy is seven, he meets a pair of twins. The first is hostile, the second friendly-_

_He's three years old, he stumbles around the garden and searches for a tree small enough to climb-_

"Someone help me," Thomas groaned as the grass began to lose its feel and nothingness beckoned.

"_I can't help how I feel," 28 pleads as Thomas looks on in amusement, disgust, ad secretly, fear._

_Danville, he can see Danville in the distance, it's never far-_

"Thomas," said Ferb, crouching down beside him.

"Oh thank god," whimpers Thomas, reaching out to grab the only other person in the world. "Thank god. Don't let me go, don't let me die, Ferb, please…"

"You're already gone," said Ferb quietly.

Thomas felt another pang in his stomach and pulled himself towards Ferb on the other boy's coat.

"You're not the real him, but please…" Thomas' mask shattered. "It was my fault, if I say it was you'll help me! Ferb, I'm sorry!"

Ferb lifted Thomas' chin and smiled comfortingly, before slowly reaching and closing his hands around the blond boy's throat. Thomas smiled weakly in gratitude as the fingers began to tighten, and no more words would come.

"I'm here until the end," said Ferb. "It's never too late."

The sun and the sky were overrun and faded from existence, followed by the surrounding countryside. Without a sound, the tree, the grass, the rocks and eventually the entirety of Watership Down vanished.

And following after, Ferb and Thomas did too.

* * *

**I don't intend to use Rains again, which is really the basis of this chapter, as well as looking into his psyche as I'm so fond of doing. Obviously Elliot Rains still has a part to play though.**

**Thomas is very unpredictable, but it's rare that he's seen as the one out of water –only in Thomas Alone has he been the protagonist in a sense. Even in ensemble chapters, he's usually supporting. The two main flashbacks allow that duality – the horrible pitiful one that allows him sympathy, and then one where he's obviously villainous. **

**Now that I think about it, Bob is the only Smile Away kid that doesn't have an animal motif assigned to him, which is particularly unfair because Ferrea and Rains get two each. The poor guy just isn't very important I fear.**

**Adieu ladies and gentlemen. I might abandon the alternating weeks for the Ohio Flynn story and upload the thing consecutively. **


	13. Ohio Flynn and the Children's Crusade P2

**Ohio Flynn and the Children's Crusade**

**Part II – Sixty Seconds to What?**

* * *

"There's a distinct problem with being ginger," Flynn complained, pulling the brim of his hat lower on his brow.

"Definitely," Candace groaned, shrinking under her parasol. Ferrea was also tired to hurry under the cover, but was repeatedly rebuffed.

Fletcher managed to prevent a laugh escaping him by surveying the Australian landscape, or at least, the little he could see thanks to the blinding sunlight. Behind him, horses were being saddled with their luggage – both explorers had packed light as always, and Candace only needed her precious equipment, but Huo and Ferrea had apparently decided to stuff their entire houses into suitcases. Fletcher had as much distaste regarding their presence as his partner, but he had decided not to voice it. The problem was there, so he might as well get on with the two black-clad investors.

"Well then, welcome to Australia. The town of St Daniel, to be precise," said Huo, adjusting his sunglasses.

To describe St Daniel's as a town was tantamount to calling a slight headache a migraine. The glorified collection of dirt roads looked as if it was still stuck in the 19th century, with dusty general stores, one bar and a fairly rundown hotel squatting on the red earth as if they planned to move and had not quite got round to it yet. The people came and went on horses and carts – Fletcher had not seen a car since the airport.

"Good," said Ohio. "I thought being tourists you would have set us up in the middle of a city."

"Let's chuck this stuff into the hotel and go to the bar," Candace growled irritably, trying to steer clear of Ferrea and the sun.

"Sweetwater and Kriemhild should be there waiting," said Huo. "Not in the bar obviously, I doubt their type are allowed in."

"Their type?"

"Do not take me for a prejudiced man, Mr Flynn, I'm simply being realistic."

The hotel was nondescript – Spartan rooms adorned with rickety ceiling fans. Huo ordered the receptionist around fairly quickly and the group departed sans luggage, eager to spend as little time in their accommodation as possible, which was just the way Flynn liked things. The bar, however, looked empty, doors and windows shut, a 'closed' sign hanging from the frame.

"Damn it, it's Sunday," Candace realised.

"Not a problem," Ferrea said cheerfully, and knocked on the door anyway.

Instantly there came the shuffling of bolts and locks, and the door gave way to a short bespectacled man, whose annoyance melted into a grin when he noticed his visitors. Outstretching his hand eagerly, he shook Ohio enthusiastically, leaving a bemused Flynn with a strained arm.

"I wondered when I'd be seeing you, Mr Flynn. And Mr Fletcher. Wonderful, come in, come in."

The bartender relocked the door behind them and urged them towards the stools at the bar, fixing his apron to impress. Fletcher took a look around the room – they were not alone in the closed bar. Two women sat watching him from one of the tables, aboriginal in origin, who he assumed to be Sweetwater and Kriemhild. At the other side of the room, a man and woman sat, eyeing the bar in a manner similar to him. Both strangers were dressed in brown dustcoats, revolvers evident when they moved.

"Kriemhild, Sweetwater, come over and introduce yourselves!" The bartender called cheerfully. "My apologies, you don't know my name. Call me Irving, everyone does."

The two women approached, the taller one nearly bouncing across the room, grabbing hands and shaking them even more enthusiastically than Irving had. The shorter woman watched the exchange from behind cheap spectacles, identified herself as Kriemhild and said little else.

"I've read all about your adventures!" Sweetwater was talking loudly, and the two strangers behind her looked on in annoyance. "Ironside doesn't stand a chance next to Flynn and Fletcher. And of course, with myself on board, there's no way…"

The strangers got up from the table and made towards the door, talking in hushed voices.

"Later then Django, Vanessa," Irving said, before covering for Sweetwater. "Miss Sweetwater thrives on cheap adventure novels Mr Flynn, meeting the real thing is quite the experience."

Ohio had always been rather modest about his popularity, and as always, flattery left him rather red and uncomfortable. He blustered his way through the various introductions, although Huo seemed to know everyone already, and it was quite possible that Ferrea did too. Sweetwater bounded from person to person, loudly asking questions and entering personal spaces. From Irving's expression, Ohio gathered that this was fairly commonplace.

"Take a picture! I'll go strike a pose. Wait, wait, wait – here, look, I'm George Washington!"

"Wonderful," said Candace through her teeth, wishing to keep the camera for something actually important. Thankfully Sweetwater forgot and had already turned to ask Huo about his sunglasses.

"This is an unnecessarily large group," Ohio said bluntly, leaning forward in his seat. To his surprise, a pint of beer slid under his considerable nose.

"Mr Flynn," said Irving, "You can't expect someone as famous as you to be able to be indiscreet. Not in the slightest. I can console you with alcohol though."

Ohio gave a short confidential smile to the barman. He did not have a particularly high alcohol tolerance – quite the opposite in fact, as Isabella frequently reminded him, but under the circumstances he figured that he would need a lot. Several seats over, he heard Rhode Island order drinks for all the women present. Typical, Ohio thought.

"Isabella Garcia-Shapiro," he said suddenly, and a little too loudly. "She been here?"

Irving raised a bottle of whisky and eyed the explorer through it. "Yes, Mr Flynn. She's upstairs."

"I hope," Huo said, leaning towards Flynn as Irving hurried up the stairs, "that you are not thinking of simply leaving once Miss Garcia-Shapiro arrives. She was your reason for coming here."

Ohio ignored the implications. "As long as this expedition isn't completely incompetent Mr Huo, I'll do my job. Maybe I don't like it, but I'll see it through."

Huo's pocket watch chimed the man's signature, and he pulled away to discuss something with Ferrea, who did not seem particularly interested. Ohio suddenly understood the term 'lonely in a crowd', and became lost in his own thought until a white business card was slapped down on the surface before him. This time, it proclaimed the owner of the card as a 'comforter, philosopher and lifelong mate'.

Ohio looked up, already grinning. "It's been a while."

"It's always a while," Isabella said, hopping over the bar. "Because I'm always there long before you."

"And yet you wait."

"And yet I wait. It's not really fun when it's just me. Hello Rhodey, you could buy me a drink. My tab's running up."

"There is no tab," Irving said. "I just take the money whenever you pass out."

"He didn't know that!" Isabella snapped, before noticing another friend. "Hullo Candace."

Candace gave a short wave from the other end of the bar. A strange pair of green eyes briefly met Isabella's gaze before suddenly averting themselves. Isabella wondered who the woman was, but Ohio was looking at her expectantly, and so she sat down beside him.

"Now if we're running as normal," said the explorer, "you already have a bunch of information we need."

Isabella smirked. "Don't you want to wait a while?"

"Not with this lot. I want started and finished as fast as possible."

Isabella rolled her eyes and explained what she had learned from Irving over the past few days.

* * *

Elliot Rains groaned and pulled the pillow over his head, following it up with another groan as he realised that this meant leaving his head on cold rock. Compromising, he shrank downwards under the blanket, resting his head on the dusty rug that served as a mattress. The early sunshine was beginning to stream into their crevice, and he could hear Seven moving up on his sniper's nest.

"We should probably get up," said Eight, moving to lift the covers.

Rains groaned a third time until the covers were left where they were.

"Don't be childish," said Eight, but he lay back down regardless.

"Notchildish. Donwannageddup."

"I think Irving's sent a message," Eight said, after a long silence was interrupted by the flutter of feathered winds.

"Someonelsegeddit." The Englishman curled again, compressed into a tiny stubborn sphere under the thin blanket.

"You're a month older than me; at least act like an adult!"

Elliot elected to reply with the most irritating combination of whining, groaning and grumbling known to mankind until his victory was assured and Eight began to fall asleep once again. Sleep that was rapidly dispersed by the arrival of a shape that blocked the sunlight from their alcove.

"Morning boss!" Robert Plainview announced himself as cheerfully as always. "There's a message for you!"

Eight immediately seized the opportunity to rise at a respectable hour, pulled on his clothes and slunk out of bed. Elliot made a blind grasping motion at the space where the Irishman had been before pulling the covers back over his head. Robert looked at Eight expectantly, but the doctor could only offer an exasperated shrug in response.

"There's bacon, boss."

A hand shot out from under the covers. "Hand it to me."

Eight sighed and left to check the message received by Seven. He was back less than a minute later, visibly excited.

"Elliot, they're here!"

The hand retracted, and the curled shape lay still under the blankets before expanding suddenly like a whiplash, covers flying across the rocks. Elliot stumbled to his feet, eyes apparently losing their bags at mere mention of the news. Sleepily, he glanced round the cave before a familiar expression took hold – a huge grin spread across his face.

"Time to go meet them then. Heh."

* * *

Ferrea wiped her sunglasses down and adjusted her recently purchased parasol. She hated riding on horses – the saddle prevented her from perching with her legs drawn up to her chest, to which she had become accustomed. Isabella and Ohio were riding out in front, with Fletcher engaged - so far as it could be said of him - in conversation with Sweetwater. Far behind, Candace was audibly swearing – having attained a slightly antagonistic mount. Ohio had been keen on seeing the Smiling Rock, and Irving had advised a route that would take them within sight of the place, on another landmark known as The Eyrie. Bored, she turned to Kriemhild.

"So you are stolen children too?"

"Stolen by different people, but yes," said Kriemhild, sounding far bitterer about it than Sweetwater had. "Given a better education, in exchange for being looked down on by every person – white or black. We're either inferior, or race traitors."

Ferrea scratched her horse's ears. "That seems inconvenient."

Kriemhild's eyes narrowed, a spectacular flash of outrage crossing her face, but Ferrea did not notice it, and even if she had would likely not have understood it.

"It's all borne out of hate. They're trying to wipe out all the natives through assimilation."

"Yes, it all seems rather inefficient," Ferrea said, watching Huo ride up next to Ohio and exchange some grievances masked by politeness.

"What?" Kriemhild spoke through grinding teeth.

Ferrea waved distractedly. "Well, if I was going to do it, all this cloak and dagger business only goes so far, and it's expensive. We're not at war, so the army is easily deployed."

"That's your qualm with children being forcibly taken from their families? It's _expensive?_"

"Yes. I'd just have the army systematically wipe out the natives, settlement to settlement, men women and children. That would be far more efficient. And less expensive. And these days, friend, expense is everything. There's a lot of surplus weaponry from the war, so it makes economic sense. Of course, wiping out a race of people doesn't make the most sense in regards to economics. You look annoyed, what's wrong?"

Seeking to avoid attracting the attentions of the rest of the party, Kriemhild rode up right beside Ferrea, ready to draw a knife if pushed further. "What's wrong? You just lectured me on how you would slaughter all of my people! Give me one good reason why I shouldn't…"

"Shouldn't what? Miss Kriemhild, I don't intend to carry this out. That would imply some sort of racial hatred, but I've always thought that was a little narrow. Instead of white people, black people and so forth, as you seem to think, there are really only two types of people in this world: me, and everyone else."

Kriemhild loosened her grip on the hilt of the knife and fell back to join Sweetwater and Fletcher, seething with rage. Ferrea shrugged perplexedly and adjusted her parasol once more.

"Did I just hear that?" Ohio said, raising an eyebrow. "I think your partner is… well, omnicidal, Mr Huo."

"No, she just has absolutely no idea how to comport herself public-wise, I'm afraid." The scarred face pulled itself into a distorted smile. "Rather like you two."

Isabella and Ohio managed to say "What?" simultaneously.

"It's rather inappropriate to court one another in such a fashion. Given your past history, I would advise you get married."

"Have you been spying on us?" Isabella was caught in the curtain between outrage and embarrassment.

"I simply asked Irving," said Huo. Forgive me; that was impolite. You may be no maiden, ma'am, but I fear that I am not one to judge on reputation alone." He gestured towards his face. "We all have our imperfections."

"Why bring it up at all then?" Ohio said, affronted.

"Because I think you should consider betrothal. Consider it a recommendation from a friend."

Ohio saw straight though the man – it was another take on Reginald Fletcher's approach to diplomacy. Huo might as well have rode up and said 'I don't like how this expedition is going, and if it gets worse, well, that's a nice lady you have there, I'd hate to see something happen to her'. The sooner this entire business was behind Flynn and Fletcher, the better. Isabella tapped him on the shoulder without warning and gestured towards dust in the distance.

"Riders, Ohio."

He looked over his shoulder and called to the others. "Sweetwater, Kriemhild, upfront – you're supposed to be guides. Everyone else stay close. These people might be asking about Ironside."

"Aboriginals?" Fletcher asked.

"No," said Isabella, "look more like… Hey!"

The red cloud slowly revealed the two riders as one raised a rifle and discharged it into the air. Hats and long coats obscured most of the features, but the message was clear. The party cautiously dismounted, their hands raised.

"Great," said Candace. "Two minutes in this country and we're being held up." Whistling 'inconspicuously', she scraped a hole in the ground with her feet and dropped her camera gently inside.

"Oh," said Sweetwater. "This is probably my fault."

The two riders came to a halt and rapidly dismounted in a perfectly synchronised manner, and Ohio recognised the two from Irving's bar – Django and Vanessa, or that was what he had heard. Django used his revolver to push up the brim of his hat, grinning humourlessly.

"What do we have here, Ness?"

"I don't know, Django, what?"

"What indeed."

Huo stepped forward, annoyance painted on at least half of his face. "Look here, I demand-!"

Vanessa pointed her rifle in the man's face. "You demand nothing, or I'll make your face match up."

Django stepped forward, examining each member of the party, his spurs creating sharp lines in the dirt behind his footprints.

"See, me and Ness here…"

Kriemhild could not help it. "Ness and _I_."

Django did not look amused. "Ness and I, then, are something of fortune hunters. We've been tracking a very bad man."

"The worst," said Vanessa.

"And now we here that some people are trying to get him away and free from repercussion. See, we can't have that."

"Watch it," Vanessa said violently, jabbing Huo with her rifle. The man's pocket watch was loosened and began to fill the air with the familiar music.

"Sounds expensive," said Django. "Here Ness, we might as well take what we want."

Vanessa smirked and opened Huo's jacket, holding her rifle in one hand. Ohio almost stumbled backwards, but Isabella urgently kept him in position, wary of the approaching Django. Sweetwater and Kriemhild muttered something to one another, only to be silenced as Django faced them. Huo's pocket watch chimed ever louder, the only other sound next to the wind. Vanessa held it in her free hand, ready to pull it loose of its chain. The tune slowed to a stop, and the breeze became the sole soundtrack.

"Where'd you get this, handsome?"

"Cào nǐ zǔzōng shíbā dài!" said Huo venomously, and his hand moved faster than Ohio would have thought possible.

Django turned in alarm, raising his revolver, but his view was obscured by the horses. Vanessa cried out in alarm as her rifle was knocked to the side, her other hand caught on the watch. Huo raised his now occupied hand and fired his revolver rapidly into the woman's exposed stomach. It was not so much spurts of blood, but a cloud of red that exploded from her back, and Ohio fell back in horror, Vanessa's screaming driving Django to desperation.

Vanessa hit the ground, and Huo was already swivelling, ready to fire at Django. The bounty hunter fired twice as he ran out into the open, clipping Huo's left shoulder once before he was caught by the disfigured man's bullets and fell to his knees. What happened next appeared to take place in slow motion for Ohio, but Huo's head disappeared in a shower of gunpowder and blood, Vanessa's raised rifle smoking one instant and then lying several feet away as another rifle blast rang out and killed her instantly.

"Ohio, get up!" He heard Isabella's voice and looked around deliriously. The others were still standing, hands raised, but looking in a different direction now. Ohio could barely focus on anything but the sound of Django's injured groaning, and the sight of Huo's body sinking to the ground, near-decapitated.

"That one needs medical attention!" Ohio heard someone yell, possibly Candace. A blur crossed his vision, a young black-haired man running to Django's side.

"Fucken bloodbath. I though I only winged the girl though, shame."

The last thing Ohio heard before he slipped into unconsciousness was the sound of approaching boots.

"Well, well, well, my little droogies, what have we here? Aheh."

* * *

**Having given it some thought, I think I'll continue this story on consecutive weeks, as I guess it gets kind of annoying waiting two weeks to resolve cliff-hangers. I guess this is sort of a cliff-hanger, but I'm not really one for a literal cliff-hanger, or ending just before someone dies or whatever. You'll yield a much bigger emotional haul if the situation is resolved as the chapter ends, like when I mercilessly killed Irving.**

**The chapter of the title refers to the showdown at the end of For A Few Dollars More, and the track accompanying it by Ennio Morricone – which contains the tune of Huo's watch alongside typical Western gunfight music. I was sorely tempted to have Elliot kill Huo, just so his last words could be 'Not again…'**

**It's a different Ferrea, but her dialogue here is a reminder to myself that Ferrea is not a nice person – I do treat her rather well for an amoral textbook sociopath. **

**Sometimes your opinions leak through the characters – Thomas and Adyson share my knowledge of pop-culture, Gretchen sometimes displays my more misanthropic moments, Ferrea is into existentialism and the witches have my accent written phonetically. But Elliot's refusal to wake up is the epitome of this entire phenomenon, and I sympathise with him completely.**

**What with happen next week, reader? I shall return! (You, the reader, may wish to imagine this line said by a stereotypically drunk, kilted, bagpipe-playing man flying up, up and away).**


	14. Ohio Flynn and the Children's Crusade P3

**Ohio Flynn and the Children's Crusade**

**Part III – The Laughing Man And The Crossest Man In Ireland**

* * *

Ohio woke in the midday sun, wearily glancing up at the white canopy that was preventing his pale complexion from bursting into flames like a vampire. Already covered in sweat, he pushed the blanket away with some degree of a temper and sat up in the humid tent that had served as his accommodation. Pained groaning alerted him to the presence of Django, heavily bandaged and apparently still unconscious, writhing on a stretcher-like array of sheets and rope. One more blanket was in use – covering two unmoving shapes in the corner, boots identifying them as Huo and Vanessa.

Ohio unwisely took a closer look at Huo's head wound. He heaved and wretched for the next five minutes.

"You could say he, ah, had a… mind-blowing experience," said a slight, black-haired man entering the cover. "Apologies, Mr Flynn, but you pick up on these jokes in the medical field."

Ohio sat back on his makeshift bed, his hands suddenly a very interesting distraction. His eyes however, kept pulling themselves towards Huo's head, or rather, the bits of Huo's head.

"Seven, right?"

"A couple of minutes off," said Eight. "There's nothing wrong with you by the way, you simply fainted."

"It's a natural reaction!"

Eight rolled his eyes. "You didn't go to war, did you?"

Ohio reddened and refused to meet Eight's eyes. "The war was no place for an explorer. I stand by what I…"

Eight shrugged and crouched next to Django, removing the man's bandages and wrapping on new ones that could only be described as clean by a blind man with no sense of touch. Django's eyes flicked open, an electric blue jittering in their sockets, as if pulling away from the pain of the body. The mouth moved in a parody of speech before Eight passed something over it, and almost instantly Django was asleep once again.

"What happened? I couldn't see."

"The, ah, girl took several shots from Huo," said Eight, standing up. "Huo then took a shoulder wound from this man, who received two bullets in the torso as a thank you. Then the girl turned out to be alive, killed Huo, and then Seven shot her in two." On seeing Ohio turn pale again, he sighed. "How does that make you squeamish?"

"Going outside," Ohio said weakly, and ducked out from under the canopy.

"Let me tell you a very sad story. Heh."

Ohio walked straight past the man leaning against the rocks and examined his surroundings. They were directly beneath the formation Irving had named The Eyrie, a sheltered campsite of overhanging rocks and some sparse vegetation. More bedding was visible in the shade, and the open area was dominated by a fire pit, where the most of Ohio's party were seated, talking quietly.

"Hey, I'm talking to you."

Ohio let his eyes adjust to the harsh light without the benefit of the canopy. "Hello. Elliot Rains, isn't it?"

"Yeah, you're right," said Rains. "There's this gentleman right, devilishly handsome and the indisputable hero of this very sad story. And this brave man simply cannot wait for the next step in his adventure, so waits for the supporting cast to turn up…"

"Are you about to make fun of me because I fainted?"

The man before Ohio stopped speaking, black eyes wide in surprise before a grin spread across his pale features. Elliot Rains stood at a fair height, with a thin, almost-starved build that reminded Ohio of a stray cat. A policeman's uniform hung loosely from his shoulders, as if Rains had forgotten about his clothing midway through dressing. Bizarrely, the sun did not seem to burn him so much as bleach him, and Ohio nervously took hold of a bony outstretched hand.

"Welcome. Heh. You've already met Eight. Your friends are waiting for you."

Taking in the sight of guns and ammunition littering the camp, Ohio slowly made his way over. "Did you know Huo?"

"Went to school with him. Heh, at least the sides of his face are symmetrical now."

"How can you even joke about it?"

"Easily, he was an uptight arse. Besides, he was more in line with _her_."

Ohio knew instantly that Rains was referring to Ferrea. He did not blame the Thunderbolts for having such a reaction to the strange woman, as his group could say much the same, especially Kriemhild. Fletcher tipped his hat towards them, slight amusement written on his face, whereas Candace and Isabella immediately started giggling. Rains sniggered unpleasantly and sat at the empty fire pit.

"Have a nice rest dear?" Isabella said, moving to sit beside Ohio.

"Room service wasn't entirely unsatisfactory. Have you all been talking about me?"

"Probably just having a momentary sickness, right?" Sweetwater looked like his only supporter.

"Ohio, I look out for you," said Candace, "but you pissed yourself."

His detractors burst into another round of laughter, and Ohio suddenly felt very small and surrounded by massive evil grins. He hadn't realised that people were this eager to mock him.

"Two people died! Am I the only one who cares?" At the end of his sentence, his voice rose to a high pitch, which only made things worse.

Rains threw an arm around the redhead's shoulders. "Hey, I was sad about our poor faceless chum."

"Perhaps you're too earnest to enjoy black comedy," Fletcher said, with a vague air of support about him.

"I'm hungry," complained the fat man, to no one in particular.

Ohio loosened himself from Rains' grasp and shook off the red dust that had fallen from the other man. Free from the influence of Huo, he began to wonder about the threat posed by the Thunderbolts. From what he could see, Rains was the designated leader, and from the body language between Rains and the approaching Eight, had definite power over at least one of the group. The fat man, Robert, seemed dissonantly bored by events, but Ohio would have guessed him a loyal follower. The only one left to meet was Seven.

"Saved you some food," Candace said gruffly, shoving a vaguely edible lump of meat towards Ohio.

It tasted of dust and foliage, and the meat was stringy, but Ohio was glad to have anything. Fainting had left him feeling incredibly light, and the food seemed to anchor him in his surroundings. As the group descended into conversation that appeared to be driven by Rains and Sweetwater's joint knowledge of popular culture, Ohio leaned towards Isabella.

"Did they say anything about Ironside?"

"Not a word. Can't get a straight answer out of Rains, or Eight. Ferrea is talking to Seven, as far as I'm aware."

"Where are they?"

She pointed towards the highest point in the rock formations. "We can take a look at the Smiling Rock, if you want."

They stood to leave, and Eight watched them with some amusement.

"If you're going up, just, ah, forget what you know about manners."

"Pardon?"

"You're about to meet the crossest man in Ireland."

A winding trail of gravel and cigarette ash directed them up through the rocks, steam rising from the flatter rocks. Ohio wondered if this was how their food had been cooked, and pulled his hat lower for all the good that it did. Isabella fared far better, as usual, and reached the summit beforehand, where the rocks rose in one last attempt upwards, leaving a tiny imitation of the valley below. Between this space hung a short cover of leaves and branches, beneath which Ohio glimpsed Ferrea.

"Finally awake, Mr Flynn. I thought you had died," Ferrea said cheerfully.

"Death just doesn't suit him," said Isabella. "Hello, Mr Wales, pleasure to meet you."

"Aye, how you doing?" The ground beneath the canopy shifted, and Ohio cursed at not seeing the sniper beforehand. Seven casually lit a cigarette, positioning his rifle along he length of his arm as he did so. "Don't distract…" He glanced over his shoulder. "Jaysis in fucken heaven. You Ohio Flynn? You look like someone put some hair on a fucken deformed milk bottle!"

"Thank you," said Ohio, smiling with his eyes closed.

"Bet you're a twitchy wee arse, like my brother. And you!" he snapped at Isabella. "You're a shifty customer, aren't you?"

Isabella sat down under the canopy, and Ohio quickly followed, sweating profusely. Ferrea's nose twitched and he realised that the smell was much worse than he had previously thought. Thankfully Seven's cigarettes blocked some of the smell.

"Big Ohio Flynn," Seven was saying, resuming his gaze through the sniper scope. "Brave explorer, fought a corn monster, but couldn't fight the fucken Germans."

"Just because he didn't fight doesn't make him a coward!" Isabella was visibly angered, and began to rise from her seat.

"Aye it does. See, I learned how to fucken shoot. We all went to the same bloody upper-class twat-fest, but while Robert looted the kitchens and Elliot and Eight were buggering in the shower, I learned how to fight. I volunteered and I fought right the way through. One hundred and fifty one kills, and that's just the confirmed ones." He gestured towards Ohio. "This peaky little cunt couldn't hack it, could you, you big woman?"

Ohio sniffed. "I was in Madagascar at the time, there was an idol…"

"Don't get so riled, Mr Flynn," Ferrea said, stretching and curling into a tiny shape. "Daniel's testing you. If he wanted you gone, you'd know."

Seven viciously stabbed the cigarette out on the rock and blew the ashes from the precipice, watching as they glided for a brief moment before the lack of wind sent them spiralling downwards.

"You're up to see the Smiling Rock, right? Come here."

Ohio crouched down beside the foul-mouthed Irishman and shuffled in towards the scope. He had never held a gun before, and even supporting Seven's gun made him uncomfortable in a manner he could not accurately describe. One eye pressed up against the scope, he squinted uncomfortably. Seven moved the gun delicately, and guided Ohio's gaze along the plain until a tiny orange mound became visible against a blue backdrop. Ohio did not know what he had been expecting from the Smiling Rock, but it was not nearly as impressive, or as close as he had hoped.

"How far away is it?"

"Roughly… Ten hours or so, but you wouldn't be able to move in this heat."

Isabella scratched her nose, unable to comprehend Seven's complete switch from foul-mouthed thug to cold professional.

"I want to go today," said Ohio, surprising the others with the edge to his voice.

"Impractical," said Ferrea. "Tomorrow would be a more reasonable date."

"She's right," said Seven. "You should listen to her more often."

It was there that Ohio understood that the Wales brothers were holding the Thunderbolts together. Elliot had an obvious dislike of Ferrea, and Ohio had still to see where Robert stood, but the twins were the one constant, with Eight loyal to Elliot and Seven loyal to Ferrea, ultimately holding the group together by circumstances of birth. If it came down to it, Ohio wondered whether Seven would side with Ferrea or his twin.

"Ohio, perhaps we should wait until tomorrow," said Isabella. "We'll need to get everything packed again."

"Besides, you'll have the rest of us with you," said Seven, lowering the rifle. As he did so, he exhaled, and with it went his professionalism. "Right, are you hanging around like a third bullock or do I have to say fuck off back to your dairy farm, you pasty shite?"

His three visitors wisely elected to leave at that point, but not before the irate Irishman had called after them with his schedule.

"Rains takes watch for two hours at night. If you can't find me at any other point, I'm taking a shit."

"It's the smoking that does it," explained Ferrea, to an Isabella who was not much interested in the topic.

"I can't tell whether or not I find that man offensive," said Ohio as they returned to the campsite.

"Disgusting," said Isabella, "but he must be good at his job."

"Yes," said Rains from behind them, startling Ohio and Isabella. "Certainly nixed my hopes for having twins at the same time. Heheh."

Ohio had not wished to have a mental image of Rains and Seven in such a situation, and now that he did, he very much wished that it would go away.

"Daniel and I are courting," said Ferrea, slyly scuttling past Rains. "Hopefully it'll fare better than your marriage."

Rains' black eyes narrowed at the departing figure. Ohio did not notice a ring, and assumed that the relationship must have been both brief and unpleasant – after all, Rains looked to be - at most - in his late twenties.

"That woman is not as clever as she thinks she is," he said, barely noticing Ohio or Isabella before he slunk off towards the medical tent.

Ohio shrugged and approached the fire pit. He supposed that he was the leader of this expedition, manipulations from Huo and Ferrea notwithstanding, and decided to challenge Seven's advice to an extent.

"Are we ready to depart today, or do you want to leave tomorrow?" As he voiced it though, he wished he had been less democratic – of course they would choose the option that granted greater supplies and numbers.

"We're in no position to leave," said Fletcher. "I don't like this anymore than you do."

Candace nodded. "The Smiling Rock sounds dangerous – wait until we're ready, especially if Rains is coming too."

"Eight told us this story," Sweetwater began, excitable as ever. "Some bounty hunters came by, said they'd shot Ironside when he was on top of the rock, but when they rode close they were chased off by gunshots. Then, when they were riding away, they looked back and saw Ironside standing there, as if nothing had happened!"

"…Is there a point to this?" Kriemhild asked, eyes rising above the page of Eight's medical journal.

"We need to prepare to fight ghosts!"

"Ghosts don't need to eat," said Robert. "I do."

* * *

Night set in quickly, but Django would not have been able to tell – the fever had set in faster. He was tied to the makeshift bedding by some rope around his midriff, so every twitch and writhe was tempered by rope burn. The night was cold, but the medical tent seemed to only get more humid with sweat and fear.

Vanessa. They had killed Ness – he'd kill all of them for that. Before, he had been drunk. Well he wasn't drunk now. He decided that his shattering of the hospitality rule would make the Glencoe Massacre look like a slight misunderstanding. He had to find out who had killed Ness though, then he'd…

"You caused quite a bit of trouble," said the redhead. Green eyes flashed overhead.

"Who…"

"Yes, Huo," chuckled the woman. Beside her crouched an incredibly fat man, scratching his head stupidly. "You could have ruined everything."

Django struggled to rise, but the rope held him in place. He could not find the energy to speak, and the fire in his shoulder burst into a greater concentration as the wound brushed against the dirt.

"Can I eat him now?" said Robert.

"Robert was in the trenches, you see. One day, he became stuck in barbed wire. Luckily, so did others, and he was able to prevent starvation by improvising. I'm afraid he grew to enjoy the taste."

Django's eyes widened, but a huge hand clamped over his mouth before he could shout or scream. Robert's huge head loomed towards him, smiling childishly, like a huge shark emerging from the gloom. The hand tightened considerably, and Django began to kick his arms and legs in protest as Ferrea smiled contentedly. Presently, Django felt his throat close over, his panicked eyes feeling like they might explode under the pressure. He rocked back and forth with all his strength, but Robert held him fast, and eventually Django turned blue and fell back onto the bed, eyes bulging and staring.

"Can I eat him now?"

"We'll move him first, out the back way," said Ferrea. "Then it'll appear as if dingoes caught him while he was escaping."

Robert nodded excitedly and hoisted the body over his shoulders.

* * *

Ohio could not sleep. Australia seemed to be out to destroy him – now it was far too cold to sleep. Pulling on his jacket and boots, he considered diving under the thin covers fully dressed, but finally decided to get up and walk through the campsite. There were some strange noises coming from the medical tent, but had no desire to watch Django struggle through fevered dreams and so ignored it.

There was no visible smoke coming from the Eyrie, and Ohio realised that Seven was asleep with everyone else. Isabella did not stir as he passed her, and even the paranoid Candace did not move despite the noise. Pausing in the middle of the camp, Ohio glanced around – Sweetwater and Kriemhild had fallen asleep leaning against the cliff face, their heads together. He was tempted to steal Candace's camera for that one image. He could just see Eight from this position, fast asleep in a dark alcove.

Cricking his neck, Ohio walked to the exit of the valley, following the smell of smoke. At least someone else was having as restless a night as him. When he reached the opening in the rocks, he looked around but was apparently alone.

"Has Ironside got to you already? Heh."

It took Ohio some time to find Rains, but he finally saw the blond man stretched out like a cat on an overhang, grinning ear to ear.

"Please would you tell me why your cat grins like that?" Ohio remarked dryly.

Rains slid from the overhang and landed soundlessly on his toes. "Heh. You can be funny, Flynn, I'll give you that. Not as funny as Miss Sweetwater though, and not nearly as attractive."

"Did you meet Ironside?"

Elliot's smile failed and he looked away. He suddenly appeared much older.

"I'm not a pleasant man, Flynn, but…The Smiling Rock is too much. I would have killed him there, but Eight said that if I did, the children would turn on me. And I've done terrible things, Flynn, but I've never shot a child."

"I've never shot anyone."

"Well I guess that's… Ah. We're being summoned."

Ohio followed Rains' gaze and jumped in surprise – three children were standing silently before them, clutching rifles dutifully to painfully small chests. The eldest among looked to be roughly twelve years old, a dead-eyed boy with a terrifyingly disciplined stance, who raised his rifle to lean against one shoulder. Even Rains was silent as the child beckoned with a free hand, before pointing to a horse-driven cart in the distance. Ohio weighed his options, before he nodded and followed the group, Rains keeping pace.

If this was how it had to be, he would face Ironside alone.

* * *

**The 'Crossest Man In Ireland' title is used because I've finally realised where 27's swearing comes from – Jamie MacDonald of The Thick Of It and In The Loop, an ax crazy (sometimes fax crazy) press officer who has achieved the title of Crossest Man In Scotland. He even looks like my image of Seven, so he must have been in my subconscious for a while. It's only because I saw The Thick Of It again recently that I realised.**

**Eight takes on some elements of Fox on, at least in medical knowledge. I hate Mr Fox, so he wasn't going to show up. Although he was meant to be hated. Actually, are there any characters you dislike (other than Fox and Ironside)? I always wonder if I've made someone completely unlikable unintentionally.**

**Elliot Rains doesn't seem particularly antagonistic, and I didn't want to invoke the rivalry with Isabella or Fletcher again – it'd seem fairly redundant. It's also why a lot of this is from Ohio's perspective, because Phineas interacted with less and less characters as the stories went on.**

**Anyway, Happy Easter, see you next week!**


	15. Ohio Flynn and the Children's Crusade P4

**Ohio Flynn and the Children's Crusade**

**Part IV – Heart of Darkness**

* * *

Fletcher woke in suspicion, and remained that way. The sun was not yet visible in the little valley, a dim red light splitting the dark blue as it rose. _Shepherd's warning, _Fletcher thought grimly, rolling from the dusty sheets and looking around. He seemed to be the last one risen, and hurried down to the gathering, a frown beginning its journey across his face.

"Candace?"

Candace turned, and Fletcher instantly knew that something was terribly wrong. The irritation that so often marred her face had shifted into genuine anger – as a reporter it meant that as well as being concerned, she did not have the slightest grasp of the situation. Fletcher had seen it before – there was nothing more terrifying to a writer than to be as ill-informed as they were hopeless.

"Ohio's missing," she said, her voice cracking. She had been shouting. "Rains too. Their beds just empty."

"It's like they evaporated," said Kriemhild, sifting a bare foot through campfire ash. "Straight through the rocks."

"They come at night, mostly." Fletcher turned to see Robert approach, calm despite the situation. "Ironside's people. They're silent, and Rains was the one on watch…"

Candace seized the fat man around his greasy shirt collar and shook roughly, but Robert barely budged, and stared blankly at her hands until she spoke.

"That's all you can offer? We're going after them right now!"

Robert blinked and turned his massive head to seek assistance. Ferrea was at his side instantly, looking surprisingly calm for a member of a rapidly-decreasing party in the middle of the wilderness.

"The bounty hunter's dead too," called Sweetwater. "Chased off some dingoes. Do dingoes really eat babies?"

"He disagreed with something that ate him," said Robert, but only Candace gave a courtesy laugh.

"We don't know how much that's related to Flynn's disappearance," Ferrea said, "and the problems are rapidly increasing."

Fletcher raised an eyebrow, and followed Candace's bad-tempered point until he landed eyes on the twins.

"Ah," said Fletcher.

"Meet 78," said Candace, the humour in her voice reaching a curious level of depressing.

Fletcher could no longer tell which twin was which – it looked as if Eight had let his hair down, or perhaps Seven had done something, but either way, it was impossible to tell. The Wales brothers stood identical, leaning on each other's mirror image – the whole scene was profoundly disturbing the longer Fletcher stared.

"We think they're regressing," Candace said, her speech again containing the unspoken 'I had better be getting a ridiculous amount of money for this'.

"They were like this when I first met them," said Robert.

Sweetwater sniffed the air suddenly, nearly matching Fletcher's raised eyebrow. When Candace glimpsed this, she mimicked – at first to mock, but she caught the bizarre scent too. Kriemhild caught on, narrowed her eyes and promptly fired her revolver into the scrubs before her. A panicked cry rose, and a figure stumbled to his feet from behind a cluster of rocks, raising his hands desperately.

"Don't shoot, you crazy-!"

"Irving?"

Irving calmed as Kriemhild holstered the gun, lowering his hands and wiping the dust from his fatigues. Fletcher had previously found the bartender rather smug and irritating, and his convenient arrival only heightened his mistrust.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Candace towered over the short little information broker, who had to adjust his glasses to see her properly.

"I was interested. Besides, information is power. I can also answer a couple of questions, if that eases your mind."

"Having Ohio back would ease my mind," said Candace, brandishing her camera like some primitive weapon, "but beating you bloody might ease my temper."

Irving chuckled nervously, now bent over backwards under the reporter's gaze. Scuttling around her, he motioned to straighten his outfit before Kriemhild grabbed him by the collar. Fletcher watched in exasperation, aware of how far away Ohio could be by this point.

"You can start by telling us what happened last night," Fletcher said, his cool voice cutting through the misplaced anger.

Irving blinked, and there was a pause before he spread his arms wide. "I don't take a piss without getting paid!"

Kriemhild, utilising nearby tools consisting of her knee and Irving's groin, demonstrated that the bartender was pushing his luck. Once he had finished gasping for breath and stumbling around, he produced a small black notebook from his jacket, flipping open to one of many pages completely filled with an illegible scrawl. Fletcher would have guessed that much of it followed a cipher.

"Ahem," said Irving. "Ironside did indeed send for Ohio, he said as much in his communications. Don't look at me like that - why _wouldn't_ I supply information to someone who pays for it? As for the bounty hunter, I can confirm that was not the work of Ironside's people, unless he's feeding them really badly. It looks like Django Brown died trying to escape."

Sweetwater made a chomping noise in the background, which garnered looks from Candace and Fletcher, and a brief giggle from Ferrea. Fletcher sighed. _There used to be professionals in this business. Ohio was right about this group. _"What about the twins?"

"What about us?" said one of them, as both brothers appeared on either side of Irving. Behind them, Isabella was approaching, face white with worry.

Irving flipped several other pages, but Fletcher got the feeling that the man knew what he was going to say anyway without consulting his notes.

"Robert was correct," said Irving, nodding almost apologetically. "Daniel and Simon are returning to a symbiotic relationship."

"Meaning?" asked the twins simultaneously, seeming more interested than Fletcher.

"Seven and Eight have always been together, but I suspect that Rains is the only real factor in their differences. Before, they might not have had many friends."

"That sounds like us," said one.

"Eight lives in his brother's shadow." As Irving talked, the twins looked at each other and shrugged. "He's been denied a lot. So when Rains is missing like this, he takes comfort in being identical. It lessens the pain. Seven, well, he's just failed as a watchman for the first time. Combine that with his dependence on his smarter brother, and both of them are well on their way to regression."

"If they regress any more their mother's going to get a nasty surprise," Candace remarked.

"You know where you can stick your camera?" 78 began.

"Just shut up!" Everyone turned to look at Isabella, standing with her arms crossed. "None of this is going anywhere! Instead of learning about why Ohio is gone or the psychological issues of Castor and Pollux over here, we should be going after Ohio. We've wasted enough time on this godforsaken expedition, let's ride to the Smiling Rock!"

"Yes," said Irving. "I would advise that, as there's one more thing you should know. The army are mobilising. Tomorrow, the Smiling Rock is going to be cleansed of any and all inhabitants."

* * *

"You! Heh. Yes, you! Your stomach's so distended you could use it as a weapon! Heheh."

The cart had not stopped all night, and yet the land remained the same. The Eyrie had disappeared, of course, but when looking out from the cart Ohio saw the same landscape hour after hour – red dirt stretching across the horizon and running into more red dirt. The closest he saw to a landmark was the occasional dead tree, skeletal in shape and colour. This only made the Smiling Rock stand out even more whenever he turned his head.

It was almost impossibly vast, and positively titanic up close. The plateau summit sloped in a smooth curve before plummeting downwards, sharp lines indicating where another sharp yet rounded curve spilled the rock out onto the plains. Small cracks in the rock reminded Ohio of arrow slits in some medieval castle, and if he strained, there did appear to be people moving around.

"Hey! I'm talking to you! …Ah, Flynn, these gents are no good for conversation."

Rains had not been quiet for the entire journey, and Ohio had heard enough toilet humour to last a lifetime.

"Was Ferrea there when you were employed?" Ohio said, voice distant, focus on the rock.

"Hmm? Oh, yes she was. She knew Seven beforehand. Not like biblically knew, but yes. Heh. Don't trust her, although I suppose you already gathered that. She's a real bastard, that one."

"Don't you mean bitch?"

Rains smirked.

"Quiet," said one of the children, without looking round.

The cart approached a low opening in the rock, a huge maw seemingly leading into nothing but blackness. Ohio bitterly wondered whether or not they had considered carving 'abandon all hope, ye who enter here' above the cavern. As soon as the dark swallowed them however, Ohio began to perceive a bizarre light, an unnatural glow, the cave walls revealed in brief purples and blues.

"_Immortality doctor. Doesn't it appeal?"_

Ohio turned for the sound of the voice. Two men were walking deeper into the rock, torches held above their heads. The man who had spoken was unremarkable, but the second looked remarkably like Ohio – a thin redhead with a pointed face, deep intelligence in bright blue eyes.

"_I suspect it appeals to most. That's not what I'm looking for. Can this place… resurrect?"_

"_I'm no expert Phineastein. In these halls you cannot be harmed, but as for reviving your wife…"_

The men flickered, as if a film reel was failing, and in an instant they were gone. Ohio turned to Rains, but the Englishman did not appear to have seen anything. The cart came to a sudden stop and Ohio was roughly pulled from the cart and guided up a steep narrow path that began to wind around and up giant pillars of stone.

"Here there is no water, only rock," Rains said.

The thin strip of a foothold continued for what felt like hours and quite possibly was. When he brushed against the cave walls for balance, Ohio realised that they were smooth and light, like crystal. Throughout the rock, the clang of metal on rock sounded, pickaxes breaking stone. _Is Ironside mining? _

The path opened into a circular interruption in the rock, a self-contained room. The light was more concentrated, displaying a strange sort of bedroom – a short dusty rug lay across the rock, bundles of paper gathered in every possible space, and a long flat stone provided a bed. The crystals on the wall flashed, and Ohio shielded his eyes as the figure in the bed sat up straight. A curtain obscured his features, but it was unmistakeably Ironside – huge and imposing, disciplined in every movement.

"Smells like slow death," said Rains, as they were forced to kneel. Their captors stepped back until they stood outside the room, watching carefully.

"Where are you from in Ohio?" Ironside's voice had a slight growl, contained in the back of the throat.

"Toledo, sir," Ohio stared straight ahead.

Ironside said nothing for a while, before "Do you know why you're here?"

"To search for you, sir. I was sent by Reginald Fletcher."

"Like Rains before you. Do you know why you were chosen?"

"I'm an explorer." Ohio regretted the annoyance in his voice as he spoke.

Ironside's shaven head passed through the thin curtains, a brutal face half-revealed. "You're an errand boy, sent by grocery clerks, to collect a bill."

Rains giggled quietly as Ironside stood up and stepped into the centre of the room. The man was massive – Ohio would have guessed him nearly seven feet tall, and every inch of his body radiated power.

"Reginald Fletcher. He doesn't want me. He wants my work, before the army or the natives sweep in. I'll tell you why you were chosen, Flynn. Rains turned cowardly, blanched at my methods."

"I don't see any method at all," said Rains, and with a nod from Ironside, he was removed from the room.

"Where are you taking him?"

"There are some cells, of a sort," Ironside said. "I do not intend to kill my own countrymen. Besides, in here that would be impossible. So after Rains deserted, the old man decided to rely on someone closer to home. Huo was sent as a man loyal, but he required a guide. The old man does not trust or like his grandson."

"Then why-?"

"Where you chosen?" Ironside lit a cigar, and the smoke curled off the ceiling. "Someone took interest. You think me a monster, Flynn, but you know nothing of her."

"Ferrea?"

"She hates you. She always has. She realised that she could make you suffer while she secured the old man's wishes. Reginald cannot come here himself – he's far too old, but he knows nothing of the workings of this place."

Ohio opened his mouth to speak, but Ironside continued on. "You claim to be an explorer. You've seen impossible things. The Temple of Juatchadoon. I followed that closely. I too believe in the impossible."

"What is this place?"

"A place where time has very little meaning Flynn. This rock holds the secret to immortality, at least according to legend."

"And legens have a way of coming true in my experience," Ohio said darkly. "You're a monster. Even if this was the case, why children? Why?"

Ironside grinned, the cigar clenched between his teeth. He paced the tiny room without any particular rhyme or reason.

"There was a war going on. Besides, if immortality is indeed within our grasp, then children provide excellent soldiers. They follow orders easily, they have no sexual desires, no financial concerns. They are free to be controlled.

"When I was in South Africa, fighting the Boers, we had a magnificent idea. Each night, the Boers would return home to their families, resupply to kill more of our men the next morning. So we cut off the supply with one simple idea. Do you know what it was?"

Ohio mumbled the answer.

"Correct. We called them 'concentration camps'. Women and children were rounded up and enclosed. At first they were simply enclosed communities. Then, we worsened the conditions. The Boers didn't last long after that – they were easily controlled by the manipulation of family. The natives dare not strike me, although they wish to. I control the land through its children."

Ohio gazed at the floor. He did not know if he was shaking in terror or rage. The sound of footsteps, bare feet slapping on the stone, alerted him. Ironside smiled as a young girl entered – not one of the stolen children. Red-haired and green-eyed, she reminded Ohio of Ferrea, but with a different sort of confidence. Ferrea simply though she knew everything; this girl looked as though she did know everything.

"Poor wee Ohio Flynn," Her voice was soft, her light Scottish accent causing the words to rise and fall without emphasis. "There are so many thing ye've never understood."

* * *

She was pushing the horse too harshly, she knew that, but Isabella kept focused on the distant Smiling Rock. Her expression remained as fixed as her sight, angry determination deciding her every move. She had never been a nervous person, but the fact that Ohio had disappeared without a trace from the middle of a crowded campsite frightened her greatly. Ohio was not one to handle this type of environment – he was used to grand adventures exploring ancient temples, times when no one was hurt, much less killed.

"We should slow down as we get closer," Irving was saying. "We don't want to be spotted by the natives. We should be fine once we're inside."

"How do you know?" Candace snapped.

Irving tapped his notebook and smiled conspiratorially. Isabella ignored both them and Sweetwater, who was loudly discussing H Rider Haggard with anyone who would listen, and some who wouldn't. Ferrea rode calmly, smiling the entire time – Isabella had come close to striking her for that, but it was pointless. The woman simply did not understand the situation. Robert lagged behind slightly on a massive black stallion, the only horse capable of taking his weight, sacrificing a lot of speed for strength. Soon the sun would be at its height, and Isabella knew the horses would suffer for it.

"You're awfully worried," said one of the twins, their thin horses easily matching Isabella's speed.

"Is Ohio your fiancé?" said the other.

"Is that required for me to be concerned?"

"No. We just wondered. After all, you could be worried because you failed in your duties."

"Which one are you?"

The twins smiled. "Can you guess?"

"I'm not playing. You two are a terrible influence on each other."

"That's not very fucken polite."

Isabella pointed her finger with a sigh. "You're Seven."

The one who she had identified chuckled, and his brother joined in. "How do you, ah, know?"

"Because, ah, he swore? See, according to Irving, Seven takes a level in calm and Eight gains confidence when he's hidden. So you could be wrong!"

"I don't think you understand how serious this situation is!" Isabella said, grasping the reins so hard her knuckles turned white and the leather groaned.

"We do. We care as much as you do."

"I bet we've known Rains longer than you have Ohio."

"Which is why we think you're in love with him. Rains can handle himself."

"So although Eight is worried, he knows that Rains will likely be safe."

Irving called them to a halt and asked them to dismount quietly, before ushering the entire group into a depression just off the tracks, where they were mostly concealed, although were forced to progress in single file. Isabella was aware that the monstrosity now known as 78 was directly behind her though.

"You're really worried. Isn't he an explorer? Can't he handle himself?"

"You're both a lot nicer when you're alone," Isabella said, cutting them off. This wasn't strictly true – Seven was technically more polite like this, but she almost missed the crossest man in Ireland.

At the back of the group, Robert twitched unhappily. Ferrea noticed and kept her eye on him, her smile dropping slightly.

"You used to feed once a month?" she said.

Robert nodded. "But they didn't know, so that was the first I've had since we got here. Need to meet the quota, have to."

Ferrea rubbed her temples in a rare display of irritation. "If we split into groups you can try your best."

* * *

**This chapter could be called the Apocalypse Now drinking game! Every time someone quotes it or there's a mere reference to it, take a shot! You'll be dead by the end of Ironside's scene. Irving's analysis of the twins also holds true for the modern day 27 and 28, although 27 comes across as more jealous and attention-seeking than Seven does.**

**Anachronism time! Rains quotes The Wasteland by TS Eliot, which was not published until 1922. Originally there was going to be an appearance by a crazed Stacy in this chapter, a la the photojournalist in Apocalypse Now, but she didn't really have a point other than 'yes, that is indeed a reference to Apocalypse Now'. Only Adyson gets to give shout outs for no reason.**

**Not much else to say, see you next time!**


	16. Ohio Flynn and the Children's Crusade P5

**Ohio Flynn and the Children's Crusade**

**Part V – Knockin' On Heaven's Door**

* * *

Irving's bird took to the skies and vanished swiftly into the blue with little sound, its tiny grey figure eclipsed by bright light. Fletcher wondered how long it would take for the bird to reach the nearest aboriginal settlement. Regardless of Ironside's motives, Fletcher had decided that he was not going to let the horrors and abuse to continue. If he was going to rescue Ohio, he was going to rescue everyone.

"Are you listening?" Irving snapped his fingers, crouched against the ditch. The horses had returned to the road, and would likely head towards the rock. "There are three entrances. First, the obvious one, the area where they keep the horses. It'll be hard to approach that without being seen and shot, so we'd have to approach among the horses."

"It's probably advisable that we split up," said Kriemhild. "If we're all seen together, we'll all die together."

"I agree," said Ferrea. "We are a fairly large group."

Irving nodded. "Once you're inside the rock, you're safe. I mean that – nothing will harm you in there. I'll stick with Kriemhild, if you don't mind. She knows what she's doing. And Sweetwater has grenades."

Sweetwater grinned a little too widely.

"Why are you so eager to help?" asked Candace. "What's in there?"

"According to my little birds," said Irving, "everything is in there. Power, knowledge, all infinite."

"How do you know they won't harm us inside?"

"It's not that they won't – they can't. I have a hard time believing it myself, but it's true."

"I'm not about to put stock in some mysterious force that conveniently prevents any harm," said Candace.

"Agreed," said Kriemhild. "Even if it was true, what's to stop them dragging us outside and shooting us there?"

Fletcher watched this debate for a while, with Irving repeatedly assuring that his information was reliable while Kriemhild and Candace demanded actual proof. Passing his eyes over a similarly distracted Robert, Fletcher focused on Ferrea, who was approaching the twins.

"Seven, I'll need your help in there," the young woman said, tilting her head in a fashion that was presumably meant to be endearing.

"Okay. I'll help. Which one of us is Seven?"

Fletcher was paying attention now, craning his neck over the chattering Irving. The twins sat as mirrors of one another, like they were playing a game, but their faces were deadly serious. Ferrea's lazy smile seemed to flicker before it disappeared altogether and her mouth made a bizarre twitch. To Fletcher, it was reminiscent of trapping a spider under a glass.

"Enough of this. What you need to do is…"

"Don't need to do anything."

"You need to though."

Ferrea narrowed her eyes, but it did not hide the element of distress that escaped in her voice. "This is childish and I'm not playing. Seven, this is a necessary…"

"Pick one," said Fletcher. The rest of the group were watching now, and Ferrea turned red. Even from some distance away, Isabella stopped observing the Smiling Rock and watched with some interest.

"Can't you pick out your own fiancé?" Sweetwater asked, cringing slightly.

"I know the answer," Irving whispered smugly.

Ferrea, out of her league for what may have been the first time (or at least, so Fletcher assumed), rubbed her fingers together aimlessly before jerking an arm forwards. She barely followed her own pointing, looking past the twin and muttering, "You're Seven."

The twins looked at each other, and Ferrea lowered her arm with a returning degree of superiority. Fletcher thought she was correct, but a part of him hoped she wasn't, just to see what would happen.

"Your reasoning?" said one twin, and Ferrea deflated instantly.

"Look, I just need you to help. I don't care which…"

"Fuck off," said the twins simultaneously.

For a second, Fletcher glimpsed the ugliest expression of rage he had ever seen, quickly wiping across Ferrea's face. She composed herself straight away and turned on her heel, trying to salvage anything from her defeat. She wasn't fooling the group though – Fletcher wondered if she'd stop to pick up her shattered ego.

Isabella crouched beside him, and Fletcher nodded before she had the chance to speak. Candace noticed too, and waved an arm impatiently, telling Fletcher to hurry before something else went wrong.

"We need to act now," he said, although only 'act now' seemed audible. "We'll split the group three ways."

"More can get in with the horses," said Irving. "Most cover." He coughed nervously. "I'll go with that group."

Fletcher thought about that – Irving, Sweetwater and Kriemhild together did not seem like an effective group. None seemed particularly stable, although in different ways. Isabella ground her teeth.

"I'll go with them, it's a more direct route to Ohio."

"I'll take charge of course," said Candace.

Fletcher groaned inwardly, but kept his level face. "Then I shall go with the twins, I suppose."

"Nah," said one of the Wales brothers. "We're going straight to find Rains and then we're out."

"Cowards," Isabella said, but kept it quiet.

"You can come with Robert and I," said Ferrea calmly, recovered from her shock. "We'll take one of the side passages Irving mentioned."

Fletcher nodded and smiled and resisted the urge to swear like Seven.

* * *

"Are we sittin' comfortably?"

"Who are you?" Ohio said, his voice cracked with the bewilderment that had followed him throughout the entire expedition. "You weren't on the files Reginald gave us."

It seemed as though Ironside had left the room, but Ohio could not remember anything moving. The girl was the only constant as repeating images flashed before his eyes and he began to wonder if it was possible that Ironside had not moved – it now seemed strange to think he may have stayed still. Ohio's eyes flitted from side-to-side, searching for the man he knew to be there.

"You won't find him," said the girl, crouching to face him. As she did, two other faces flashed over hers, two other women, seemingly speaking the same words as her. "Do ye want tae know?"

Ohio nodded numbly, realising with a strange form of terror that this little girl was far older than him.

"Wrong!" she said suddenly.

"What is?"

"You think I'm older than you!" She waggled her finger and giggled. "I'm younger, older and the same age as you. I am all the possible ages ye can think of, and none o' them."

Ohio felt the Australian dust in his eyes and scratched blearily. The young girl had moved in that instant, and was sitting to his side. Smirking, she tapped the wall, and the flashing images increased dramatically, moving faster than Ohio could comprehend, as if rushing through a vast and endless tunnel.

"Y'see, they've already built it, are building it, haven't built it. How dae I put this to your stupit little head? We're in 1919, right? Or we were at least. About a hundred years from now, a man named Phineas creates something so powerful, to make a paradox possible."

"I don't…" Ohio said, catching a glimpse of a man who looked very much like him.

"See these?" She brushed her hand against the wall again, and the visions shook as if electrocuted. "Phineas ran them right through the planet. In the future, he created them so that in the past, he could manipulate time to his advantage. Got it memorised?"

Ohio blinked more dirt and dust away. He was hallucinating, he had to be. He was probably asleep, back at Irving's bar, not mire in this… It sounded ignorant as he thought it, but 'witchcraft' seemed the only valid description.

"In certain places," said the girl, "time gets a bit… loose. Really loose. Like a cutty-sark on the swally. Usually where something's disturbed. Like…"

An old castle entrenched in a dark snowy forest overhead, and Ohio actually felt its presence, instinctively drawing his arms closer for warmth he did not need. There was a faint path covered in snow. Down the path stood a figure. When Ohio focused on it, it appeared to be a nondescript, bland man, standing in wait. In the peripheral of his vision though, the bland man seemed inexplicably terrifying, a dark exaggeration of a man stumbling forwards.

The girl touched Ohio on the shoulder, and the castle and man were gone.

"Past, present and future are a matter of perspective," she said. "And here, all are happening at once. Yer present self can't be harmed, because your future self already exist within these walls."

"And now you understand," said Ironside, his reappearance heralded by cigar smoke.

"No," said the girl. "He never understood anythin'. Just like Phineastein. If ye learn anythin', it's that people are disappointin' throughout time."

Ohio felt like collapsing, but was wary of leaning against the walls. Years of chasing legends had taught him not to touch anything that looked remotely ominous or powerful.

"We're immortal?"

"Only here," said Ironside.

Ohio looked around, but the girl seemed to have gone.

"Of course, I can hurt you in the present, but the damage won't be permanent. And I could have you dragged outside and shot. However, I am not interested in senseless violence. Which is why Rains, annoyance that he is, is still alive."

"Then let the children go!" Ohio snapped, rising to look Ironside in the eye. "This discovery could change the world, and you've tainted it with horror and death!"

Ironside calmly took his cigar, examined it, and with a sudden burst of speed, rammed the burning end straight into Ohio's eye. The explorer shrieked and flailed back, his eyelids jittering madly, unable to open or close properly, the pained bright blue of his eye just visible behind a seething mass of red-grey ash. In his state, Ohio brushed against the cave wall, and was immediately assaulted by more images, this time more horrifying.

_Japan, he's in Japan, but it looks different, more advanced… Light, too great to see, and people are screaming, only for a second and yet hours, incinerated, flesh peeling from bodies…_

_Dark, cold streets. A woman walks alone, and there's a fox – no, he realises, not a fox, Fox. A man called Fox…_

_There's no warmth. There should be, the sun blazing on the signpost, all in French, the sky a solid colour of blue. A man, dressed as a knight, watches children play. He walks towards them…_

_Chains pull at the prisoner, dragging him across the marble. An emperor watches with boredom as the chains are removed and used as whips…_

Ohio flung his head back, clawing manically at his eye, trying to remove the wound, the images, anything. Blood was beginning to run into his mouth, but the taste was metallic, and he swung down and collapsed on the floor, functioning eye lost in unconsciousness. The damaged eye stared unseeing.

Ironside looked on with no expression as Ohio's eye began to repair, burnt and blackened skin healing in a wave, structure returning. Eyelashes formed and the previously maimed eye closed in sleep. Ohio lay on the dusty floor, but his sleep was as restless and distressing as reality had been.

* * *

The tiny crevice in the Smiling Rock darkened as two identical figures crept in. At first they tried to enter side by side, their shoulders smacking against the rock. Trying again, they sidled in sideways, breathing in deeply.

"I told you we should have done that first."

"Shut up. And keep your voice down."

They remembered the layout from their previous visit, when Rains had gone up to speak to Ironside. The twins had scouted the rest of the tunnels and caves out of habit, and knew exactly where anyone would be held. Sound did not carry large distances inside, but they heard screaming from near the summit of the rock.

"Was that Ohio?"

The screaming stopped abruptly, and the rock was eerily quiet. Straining, the twins listened to the only sound that was there, muffled and muted. Someone was talking down in 'The Box'.

"Hey, look, I'm sorry I made fun of you. Heh. Your stomach's not distended, it just sticks out a little… Let's be friends. Heheh. I'll be your best fried if you let me out- OW! Well I hope that deformed balloon of a stomach explodes, you emaciated little…"

They rolled their eyes after a shared glance and followed the constant rambling through the dark. Rains had never learned to shut up, in all the years they had known him. It was the reason for his repeated canings in school, his animosity with nearly everyone, and likely the cause for his divorce. Admittedly, the fact that he had been sleeping with Eight for years was probably a factor in the divorce too, but Eight preferred to blame Rains' smart mouth. This was the first time his constant talking had worked in his favour.

When they arrived, Rains was being beaten with the butt of a rifle, the child wielding it twisting his face in anger. Again, this was not surprising – most people wanted to hurt Rains.

'The Box' was for particularly difficult children, a tight steel prison with only a tiny window for the prisoner to observe his surroundings. Rains was very obviously cramped, his face pressed right up into the open space – where it was repeatedly meeting with the end of his jailer's rifle.

The child flinched as a revolver clicked and pressed against his temple.

"You speak English?"

The boy dropped his rifle carefully and swallowed several times before he could speak. "If you shoot gun, soldiers will hear."

The revolver was lowered, and Rains grinned as it was replaced by a large knife.

"Open it."

The boy nodded and reached for the keys. The steel container swung open silently, and Rains uncurled like a cat, giving the very feline impression that he had not really needed help, despite all evidence (and reality) to the contrary. Wordlessly, he took the knife and cut off the sleeve of his coat, before tying the rag around his terrified jailer's mouth and ushering the boy into the cell, the steel door closing behind him.

"Sorry mate," said Rains. "I'll let you out when it's over and get you a bloody sandwich or something."

"You, ah, speak English very well, if it's any consolation."

Eight made to step forward, but Seven moved an arm in front of him.

"Before we go any further Eliot… Which one of us is which?"

"Heh. I thought my jokes were bad. You're not serious?"

The twins stood, expressions as identical as the rest. Rains' black eyes flicked between both brothers.

"I think you have some self-worth issues," Rains grinned and pointed. "_You're_ Simon. And _you're_ that angry bastard I keep around for reasons unfathomable."

"Fucken hell, I guess you're not that bad Rains."

Eight crashed into Rains without another word, hugging tightly. Rains looked vaguely amused, before cracking into a lecherous grin when he caught Seven's mortified expression.

"Don't scare me like that sir…"

Seven coughed louder than was necessary. "Let's get the fuck out of here. Now."

Rains shook his head and detached himself from Eight. The black of his eyes reflected a dim purple strain of light that ran throughout the caves.

"We're not running," said Rains. "I've finally chosen us a side. Heheh."

* * *

When they burst through the cave opening, shielding themselves from the skidding legs of the horses, rifles were pointed almost immediately. Several of the horses were grabbed by the reins and pulled off to the side, and were quickly calmed before they entered any sort of panic. Isabella knew that the children had avoided firing anything but two warning shots for this very reason.

"I told you it would work," said Irving, staring down the barrel of a gun, smiling at his success while simultaneously shaking with nerves.

"What now, genius?" Isabella said, as more children moved behind to completely surround them.

"Allow me," said Sweetwater, and held open her coat with her arms spread out, like the beginning of some operatic performance.

The children froze, and Isabella looked round, curious.

"Jesus Christ," said Candace.

Irving's earlier description of Sweetwater having grenades was a massive understatement. Sweetwater was decked in hand-grenades, the lining of her coat pulled down by the weight of so many. The woman's face was not exactly comforting either – the manic expression of someone who enjoyed explosions a little too much.

Whether the children spoke English or not was irrelevant. They understood and lowered their guns. Rumoured immortality or not, no one wanted to bring about a cave-in to find out.

"I'm looking for someone – he's short and pointy and he's a personal friend of mine."

The children exchanged worried glances, some of them too young to even realise what was going on. Isabella broke the silence, desperate to find Ohio before their luck got any worse.

"Ironside," she said loudly. "Where is Ironside?"

Another pause reigned, until one of the children stepped forward, a stunted little boy who was chewing at a fingernail that never seemed to come off. His free hand gestured, uncertainly at first, and then a more decisive indication to follow him. Isabella stepped forward, and felt the rest of the group behind her.

"We shouldn't follow him," Candace said, her voice little more than a growl.

"He could be the devil himself at this point," Isabella said. "At this point, I'll follow the Pied Piper if it leads to Ohio."

* * *

Ohio was not unconscious for long. His tormented sleep was interrupted by a sharp jab, and the sudden overpowering stench of seawater. As he opened his eyes he realised that his sight had been fully restored. Despite his state, he found himself laughing and reaching up to touch his healed face.

"Quite somethin', isn't it?" The girl was sitting next to him, apparently the source of the smell. Her hair was damp and tangled, now a blood red on a pale face. "People might not be worth much, but now an' then ye see somethin' special."

"Who… who are you, really?"

"Ye'd be surprised how little I get asked that," she said, and she finally looked like a little girl was supposed to. "I don't really remember. I'm one of three." She extended a hand. "Ye kin call me Kelpie if ye want."

Ohio shook, able to maintain a smile after the relief he had felt. "Ohio Flynn. You know that of course."

Kelpie smiled gently, and appeared ready to speak, before abruptly rising and stalking off into the dark. Ohio sat up, realising as the seawater smell dissipated that the smell of cigar smoke had always been there.

"I'm not a violent man." Ironside was sitting on a wooden chair, papers laid out on a high boulder. He dropped the ash from his cigar into one of the grooves. "In fact, I spoil my children."

"What children? You've taken any childhood they could have had."

"Not them. My daughter. My bastard daughter." Upon glancing up, Ironside smirked at Ohio's confused expression. "I was young once. After South Africa, I spent some time in America. I met a woman there. Our affair was brief, and she gave the result to an orphanage. Later that year, she was married and I never saw her again. I watched by daughter grow up and become obsessed with her mother."

There were loud noises coming from deeper within the rock, but Ironside either did not hear or did not care.

"More importantly, she became obsessed with her half-brother. The legitimate child who faced a life she could not have. It worsened when he became famous. So when Reginald Fletcher approached her looking for me, she took interest."

"Because I'd finally get to deal with you," said Ferrea, casually strolling into view. "Hello little brother. It's so nice to finally meet you. I brought you present."

Ohio screamed and flailed as if his eye was damaged again as the 'present' dropped into his lap. He had never screamed like it, but the sight before him… It was impossible, they'd always… He retched loudly and vomited, shaking and writhing to get away.

Rhode Island Fletcher's eyes stared coldly, even as his head rolled across the cave floor.

Ferrea smiled. "He disagreed with something that ate him."

* * *

**Terribly sorry about the massive delay, I've been quite sick, and with school ending and such, I was pretty busy. Anyway, I'll try to get some stuff up fairly quickly to make up for it.**

**I think this is one of the biggest mood whiplash chapters I've done – from eye mutilation to the twins trying to get through an opening Stooges-style, to lovable pyromania, to severed heads. Ah well, it's all par for the course by now, surely? I don't really have much to say here this week…**

**By the way, before this wraps up (the whole fic, not this arc) I'd like to know - are there any characters you'd like to see before it all ends? I don't how many chapters I'll do, but just let me know if you want anyone in particular.**

**Anyway, see you next time, which will hopefully be just later this week. Adieu!**


	17. Ohio Flynn and the Children's Crusade P6

**Ohio Flynn and the Children's Crusade**

**Part VI – Reek, Reek, It Rhymes With Weak**

* * *

Ohio kicked weakly, his clawing fingers doing little to dame the rope around his neck. Ironside had apparently lost interest, and had walked out of sight, likely to discover the source of the shouting and commotion that seemed to be spreading through the rock. Two children held Ohio's body roughly to the floor, eventually pinning his arms as he became too troublesome. The rope tightened as Ferrea pulled it around her hands.

"Sit him up," she said, her voice never wavering from the pleasantly conversational.

They grabbed him by the shoulders and propped him up against the wall, but avoided cracking his head against it. Even the children were savvy enough to avoid damaging what they did not understand, and Ohio was certain that no one really understood the strange crystals embedded behind him.

Ferrea stood, as if watching a trapped fly in her web. When Ohio continued to struggle she smiled a little wider and kicked without warning, striking him between the legs. As the ain lingered, she dropped into his lap, making him yelp a second time. Ferrea grabbed him the sides of his face and brought him barely an inch from her own.

"I've waited so long for this, Mr Flynn," she said, but she was whispering. The tone of her voice had changed now and the mere sound of it made Ohio squirm.

"I've done nothing to you," Ohio spoke at a reasonable volume, but all reason was choked out of it.

"Technically, you're right." It was still a whisper, spoken tenderly. "Mother did. I wasn't legitimate, so she just abandoned me. Then she met another man and got married. One single scrap of paper and her next child was suddenly worth something. Two years! Two years, two different men, two different children."

She tightened the rope and giggled at Ohio's reaction.

"You're her only child. Her only loved child. Everything you did just worked out perfectly – an explorer, loyal friends, adventures, fame… When I heard about this place, I knew I had to recommend you for the job. I just had to bring you out here, break you down… It feels amazing, actually. And if the legends are true, well, I get to kill you repeatedly!"

He could feel her breath on his face, entering his own mouth, but pulling away only tightened the rope, which seemed to be her aim. She motioned to one of the children, and what remained of Rhode Island was brought forward.

"Do you see your loyal friend now? Your support, your right hand?"

Ohio could barely see anything, his eyes beginning to roll, red and streaming. The head barely looked like Rhode Island from his perspective. What little he made out was so unlike Fletcher – Rhode Island had never looked in such great pain. His eyes turned back to his torturer, bulging and near-blind.

"It took several attempts. His head just wouldn't come off," said Ferrea. "And he was fighting the whole time – I'm sensing he was the better half of your partnership." She giggled. "Even after it came off, he was still flailing about. Robert's probably dealing with it now."

Ohio tried to let out a defiant 'go to hell', but the only word audible was 'hell'.

"Poor Mr Flynn," she sighed as something went out in his eyes.

Ohio slumped, his face a mixture of red and blue that did not quite mesh together, leaving his corpse blotched and bug-eyed. His right hand twitched briefly before it gave out and he sank from the wall despite the guards' efforts to hold him up.

There was nothing, and then blackness. No, blackness first, as he felt himself slipping, then nothing. He knew nothing and was nothing – and then, the blackness came back, and brightened, and his eyes opened once more.

Ohio coughed and spluttered, face returned to normal, throat unmarked. His relief quickly turned to horror.

"You're already in hell," said Ferrea, and began the process all over again.

* * *

Candace stopped in her tracks.

The others continued to follow the child, unaware of her disappearance, following the sound of Ohio's screaming. Candace did not doubt that four armed people could rescue the captured explorer, and felt her presence was unneeded. While she was worried about Ohio, she was becoming far more worried at the smell.

It was not coming from Ohio. Distance was hard to judge in the rock, but the smell was closer than Ohio and more importantly, was not coming from anything alive. It was a stench she remembered well – the stink of a body nearly disintegrated by gunfire, the reek that lingered when a body was torn open. Instinctively, her fingers brushed over her camera, remnants of her time spent at the front lines.

Obviously, the graphic results went unpublished, but Candace had photographed nearly everything she had seen. A letter home and a written condolence shed little light on trench warfare – Candace wondered how many families believed their son had died heroically, when in reality he had died after being incapacitated before a rat chewed through his small intestine.

The rock walls seemed far away, and as she looked around, Candace realised the group was long gone. She could no longer hear anything but a wind that she could not feel. Cautiously, she turned down the path she thought her comrades had turned down, and blinked in confusion.

The rock tunnels had vanished. Candace was standing in a towering church hall, gazing up at the scars in the building that let the moon light the pews and altar. She could feel the wind now, a cruel cold on a night that was already freezing. She knew this church. Last time, it had been full of men; injured, dying, dead.

_Doctors running, nurses yelling for more supplies. The bell tower was a sniper's nest, even after the top was taken of by a shell. The floors irreversibly stained with dirt and trench water. No wonder the smell led to here._

At the sound of a noise, Candace knew better than to gawk in the open. She darted behind the rickety scaffolding that ran up both sides of the church. Both the smell and noise were coming from behind one of the pews, and presently a huge head rose into the moonlight.

Robert Plainview stood, sniffing erratically. At first she thought he was legitimately trying to smell something, before realising that he was trying to clear the blood from his mouth and nose. Irritated, he wiped and shook blood onto the wooden pews. In the light it looked black.

He hawked loudly and coughed up a mix of blood and phlegm and looked disgusted.

"You were supposed to drain," he complained. His voice was straining, a result of blood congealing in his throat. "If she hadn't taken your head, it wouldn't be so messy. Not hungry anymore."

His steps were careful, almost comically so – like a character in a slapstick comedy attempting to avoid the wet floor. He crossed into the centre aisle and stooped, picking something up with a curious noise.

"I've seen a head without a hat," he said. "Never a hat without a head."

Candace bit down on her lip to prevent a shout. Rhode Island Fletcher's fedora was soaked and sagging, and Robert let it drop. It made a squelching noise when it hit the floor.

Candace felt the denial first, but she had never been one to deny what was right in front of her, and so it was quickly eclipsed by cold wrath. Her hand shaking, she searched for her revolver. Trying to speed up, her hand slipped, and her camera clinked as it touched the metal bar of the scaffolding.

Robert's head snapped round immediately. "Found you." His other hand rose, almost lazily dangling a dripping axe.

Candace swore and burst from behind the scaffolding. The first shot exploded against one of the pews, wooden splinters scattering like frightened birds. Robert lowered his head and ran towards her, wielding the axe like a broadsword. Hissing in exertion, she twisted before it caught her in the ribs, and nearly fell. Scrambling to retain her balance, she moved on all fours to quickly avoid the axe as it came crashing downwards. As it cracked against the floor, Candace was already moving, running through the entrance to the bell tower.

The wooden steps spiralled, but tilted inwards with age. _If I can get the right angle, I'll shoot him as he comes up. _Robert crashed after her, taking the steps three at a time, his weight causing the construction to scream its protests. Candace fired again, but Robert had expected it, ducking low as soon as he knew he was visible. _He is a soldier, _she thought, and resumed running, hoping to repeat her attempt further up.

His breathing sounded far more laboured as she ran, and she grinned, ready to turn.

The wooden steps gave way without warning, and seeking to cling to the floor above, Candace found herself crashing painfully into a rock wall. Blearily, she glanced below. They were back in the Smiling Rock, several hundred feet up, the rock face her only support. Sunlight glinted down from above, closer than the ground, and Candace ground her teeth and climbed, forced to holster her revolver. Robert's axe was scraping against the rock, and a natural panic warned her that he was far nearer than before.

A handful of rock gave way beneath her right hand, and Candace, desperate for ideas, deliberately cast it down, but her pursuer shrugged it off and gained several feet. Her next panicked grab for a hold landed in the open air, and she pulled herself up on to the boiling heat of the surface.

Nearly collapsing from exertion, she forced herself to roll to the side, avoiding Robert's massive hand that swiped just behind her. Wriggling on the ground, she struggled to free her revolver. Her head was out in open space, hovering over the edge of the rock, and she nearly toppled over she pulled upwards on the gun handle. Robert was out in the open, standing straight, and wasted no time in rushing forwards with his axe, despite the disorientating glare of the Australian sun.

Tears of frustration impaired her vision, and Candace punched forward with her free hand, trying to release the holster from its position. As Robert bore down on her, her knuckles grazed the camera.

The sudden flash caused Robert to flinch, losing his balance in the instant Candace released her revolver. As he toppled forward, she grinned maliciously and fired several rounds into his torso. The cannibal continued falling, and she rolled out of his way for the final time. With a low whine, Robert plunged straight off the edge of the Smiling Rock.

Candace dragged herself along the red rock, searching for cover. _I wonder how high up we were?_

A distant crunch answered her question.

"At least three seconds deep," Candace said, with grim satisfaction.

* * *

To his credit, Ironside did not react badly to having a gun shoved in his face. Instead of flinching or fighting back, he calmly brushed the barrel away and stared at his would-be attackers.

"Ohio. Now," said Isabella.

Ironside reached into his coat. He smirked as everyone immediately rose their guns again, pulling out a small cigar case.

"He's in there." He used the cigar like a bored teacher pointing at a diagram on a chalkboard and talked like he was explaining this to a very stupid pupil.

Isabella immediately barged past, charging into the little hovel. The two children spun on their heels, reaching for the rifles strapped to their skeletal frames. Isabella heard the click of guns behind her, and could just see the grey blur of Kriemhild's barrel in the corner of her eye.

Ferrea rose quietly. She had a rope in her hand, and when she crossed over to Isabella she pulled it tight. Ohio was dragged across the rock, scraping his face badly. Even Sweetwater remained silent.

Ohio was caked in dried blood, his skin obscured by gravel and dirt, his eyes wedged shut by bruising. When he opened them, there was only the tiniest hint of blue among the mass of red. As he rolled across the floor, he knocked another object into motion, and Isabella felt her throat go dry as Rhode Island's head became recognisable.

"There's not much point in firing in here," said Ferrea. "After all, I'll just-!"

Isabella, Sweetwater and Kriemhild all fired at once, and kept firing. Ferrea staggered back, arms and legs flailing uselessly as the gunfire repeatedly ripped open her head, shards of bone cracking off and falling to the floor in synchronisation with the bullet casings. Ferrea's corpse slumped against the wall and Isabella instantly went down to untie Ohio.

"There might not be much point," said Irving. "But it would seem there is a certain element of…?"

"Catharsis," suggested Kriemhild.

"Catharsis," said Irving. "Great word, actually."

The two boys stood completely still, eyes bouncing between the smoking guns and the body on the floor.

"Get out," Sweetwater said, and they eagerly obliged.

Ironside had walked into the room again, and strode briskly over to his papers as if nothing had happened. When Kriemhild turned her gun towards him again, he gave no notice and began talking as if dictating a letter.

"The Smiling Rock contains the greatest potential discovery known to civilisation. Even as medicine improves, war moves faster. The chance we have been offered is unbelievable." He looked directly at Ohio, who struggled to stand even with Isabella's support. "I have no intention of returning yet, as I have made clear. And your lot have achieved nothing."

"I don't care about any of this," said Isabella, shuffling backwards. "We're leaving, and Reginald Fletcher can bawl about it if he likes." She pointed her gun at Ferrea's twitching corpse. "Irving says she might get back up."

"She will," said Ohio, barely audible.

"Well then, she's coming back with us to hang," Isabella said, eyeing Ironside cautiously.

"You're in no position to demand anything," said Ironside. "I have bigger numbers, I can just have you shot as soon as you leave the rock. Your options are either to stay here or die. After all, I can't have just anybody knowing about my work."

Isabella glanced around, but she did not lose her composure. She didn't want Ironside to see how lost she was.

"Unstable," said Ohio, with a sigh.

At that, something manic sparked in Sweetwater's eyes. She dropped her gun with a clatter and drew everyone's attention. A flicker of anger and doubt crossed Ironside's face as Sweetwater opened her coat. The grenades knocked together quietly, but everyone heard it.

"This is all really important research?" Sweetwater said, grinning ear-to-ear. "It would be a shame if something happened to it."

Ohio smiled at her weakly, pleased that someone had understood. Ironside started towards her, but remembered the sheer amount of gunfire that was potentially aimed at him and straightened up.

"We're in the same position as before."

"No," said Sweetwater. "You're coming with us. Otherwise, all your work goes the way of Pompeii."

Irving frowned. "Now wait, this a valuable-!" Kriemhild swiftly quietened him.

Ironside let a low growl escape his throat and took a moment to weigh his options. _Now we see if there's intelligence behind insanity, _thought Isabella.

"Fine," he said eventually. "We'll take the…"

He trailed off as Ferrea shot up, having evidently waited for the right moment. Her face was still in the process of healing, her cheek hanging open and torn. Her hand shot towards Sweetwater's discarded revolver, snatched the gun and aimed up all in one fluid, lightning-fast reaction before a shot sounded.

The room stood in confused silence as Ferrea slumped a second time. Irving wisely took the opportunity to take the gun away from her still-twitching hands.

"Get away from her, you bitch," said an Irish voice.

"Heh. Mr Wales, if your darling fiancé moves again, please paint the wall another shade red."

"Too fucken right."

Rains padded into the room, silently commanding everyone to stay completely still, which they did. Seven could easily shoot all of them with his rifle before even needing to touch his dual revolvers.

"Showing up in the nick of time to save the day, know what that makes us, Eight?"

"Big damn heroes, sir!"

Isabella could not make out much of Rains from his position at her side, but she could see his grin, as if it hovered without a body. He crossed properly into her vision as he approached Sweetwater.

"Rains, I will…" Ironside began, before a mere glance from Eight silenced him.

"We've been somewhat conflicted," sighed Rains, draping himself over Sweetwater's shoulders.

Isabella's confidence slid into unease.

"Aheh. You see, there's just too much suffering going around here. However, the natives are coming, and I'm no expert, but they probably want their little obnoxious children back. And if Ironside is still in control, those parents are going to be blown away by their own children!" He said the last line in mock-horror, and slapped his wrist to his forehead while the other arm snaked around Sweetwater's neck.

Ironside was moving slowly towards the blond man. Isabella began to back away, ready to sprint with Ohio no matter what it took. Kriemhild turned her gun towards Rains. Irving tensed, as if ready to jump towards Sweetwater. Eight pointed his gun at Ironside. Seven turned his sights on Kriemhild.

"Everybody dies, the end," said Rains cheerfully, and pulled the pin on Sweetwater's jacket.

There was a burst of violence as several guns fired, and Isabella was knocked to the side. She briefly witnessed Sweetwater wriggling free of her jacket, before she heard Ohio's frantic screaming.

"Cover your eyes! Don't look at it!" Ohio yelled, and she immediately did so, before a burst of searing heat rushed towards her.

Ohio saw events unfurl much slower than everyone else. At the moment Rains pulled the pin, the kelpie touched his shoulder and pointed for him to watch.

Ironside spun as Eight's shot hit him in the shoulder, as Rains tossed Sweetwater's now-freed jacket into the air. Irving was running towards it, shouting desperately.

Eight said the name Elliot, but instead it sounded like 'Thomas', and Irving's face distorted as he ran, like he was suddenly much younger. Rains roared with laughter the entire time, barely noticing as Kriemhild grabbed Sweetwater and leapt to the side.

The explosion was unlike any other. The initial spark seemed to flare out, and then the cave walls cracked under the force. The rest of the explosion seemed to shrink as lights and images began to pour out into the room. Ohio realised that he could see himself lying prone beside Isabella, and looked down at his hands. They were flickering, like a projector was failing to continue his existence.

"Just relax," said the kelpie.

The walls cracked further, the purple glow growing ever brighter until it was nothing but a blinding light. Rains continued laughing as it began to envelop him completely. Eight was running towards the Englishman, and grabbed his arm just as the blond man was obscured by the tempest. Seven followed after instantly, grabbing hold of his twin with a look of panic, and all three tumbled into the light, Rains' laughter sounding the entire time.

Ohio found himself oddly calm, barely able to muster a look of pity as Irving looked towards anyone for help. The redheaded bartender met Ohio's eyes briefly before he too was pulled towards the light. Ohio did not think Irving actually screamed, but it felt as if he had.

With Irving, the light began to pulse and regress, the glowing walls darkening like failing electricity. Ohio noticed that he too was fading, and gave one last look at the room. Ironside and Ferrea were rising, Isabella was trying to shake Ohio awake, Sweetwater and Kriemhild taking cover in the tunnel…

Ohio sighed and vanished.

* * *

**Look, I actually wrote something again! And, yeah, it's not on time, but hey, it's there at least. I guess.**

**The reason this took longer is because of all the different ways I thought about doing the Candace vs Robert fight. Originally they were both going to kill each other, but I like this version better. And Robert continues Mr Fox's tradition of the serial killer falling from a huge height. Ever since hearing it on the show, I've wanted to use the 'three seconds deep' line in this way, and I think Candace just pulls it off.**

**I'm not done with Ohio yet, and all will be explained – the story hasn't got Ohio's name on it for nothing. But next instalment is the conclusion, so hopefully I'll get it updated on time for once! Adieu!**


	18. Ohio Flynn and the Children's Crusade P7

**Ohio Flynn and the Children's Crusade**

**Part VII – Dead Man's Gun**

* * *

The glare was the sort generated by a sky that was uniform grey. Ohio almost missed the glare of the sun – at least it made what little he could see bearable. He pulled his hat over his eyes and walked down a beach that had more pebbles than sand. The wet gravel clung to his shoes and began to seep through.

_Wait a minute._

He hadn't been wearing his hat; Ferrea had taken it. The events in the Smiling Rock came rushing back to him, and he spun round as if struck.

He was certainly not in Australia – the beach was the sort of grey you only found in the north, and the black cliffs that rose like daggers did not look particularly indigenous to the Southern hemisphere. The clothes that he had found too warm previously now stuck to his skin, soaked and dripping. There was no need to speak aloud, but he felt he had to, just to reassure himself that he was still awake.

"Last thing I saw was that light." A migraine threatened at the memory. "Rains and the twins fell in, Irving too. Did I?"

The beach stretched for miles, although 'stretched' did not feel appropriate – it was a dead beach, so he supposed it sprawled rather than stretched. Lay on its side, those black cliffs punching their way out of the body. At least there were seabirds, but it seemed to Ohio that they were scavenging. He doubted anything lived here permanently.

He had expected to find her, and he did. The girl was lounging against a spike separate from the other cliffs, her feet submerged in the gravelly mess that might have passed for wet sand on another beach.

"Sittin' around on a beach is better than that godawful heath," she said, without turning her head. "He never turned up, either."

"Where am I?"

"I just said a beach, didn't Ah?"

Ohio blinked stupidly. She smiled, and again he felt like the child in their conversation.

"Sweetwater… the explosion, what…"

"I don't like people very much, Ohio," she said, moving her head so she could rest it on her hands. "All they care about is themselves… Even Phineas, he means well, but look at aw the bother he's caused."

Ohio flopped to the sand, which was not as soft a landing as he had hoped. The kelpie raised an eyebrow but did not comment on the fact that he had yelped slightly.

"Ye needn't worry about Rains and the bartender and the twins. They've went through."

"To… to the afterlife?"

She twisted her head. "Every time you speak, yer wrong about something. You know nothing, Ohio Flynn."

His eyes rose to gaze at the brim of his hat. He definitely remembered Ferrea knocking it to the floor.

"Just tell me what happened."

He had expected, given her superior manner, a more hostile response, or at least an irritation at being questioned. The girl did no such thing. In fact, much to Ohio's confusion, she blushed.

"I told ye Ohio, people are awful. Even the people ye want tae protect."

"You pulled me out?" He heard his own voice, stronger than he remembered. "Why, does it…"

The girl's face sank considerably, and Ohio realised that a great deal of hope had been in her expression beforehand. She looked like a little girl, and for once her expression matched. He swallowed nervously, experiencing a horrible feeling in his stomach – the kind of fear a person gets when something seems inevitable.

"You're trying to save my life, aren't you?"

She wrenched her feet from the sand and for a split-second, Ohio saw that they were decaying, maggots writhing and under exposed bones like ladders. He blinked, and she was normal again, but she did not look remotely childlike.

"Why shouldn't I? I'm not Phineastein, another Flynn! You stubborn boy, don't you see what I'm trying to do?" Her image flickered – child, mother, crone speaking all at once.

"Stubborn?" Ohio smiled. "Well, for once at least cowardly isn't listed."

She seemed to settle back as a child, and her voice wavered like the reflections of the light in her eyes, tears beginning to form.

"You stupid… They're not worth it! I thought that I could…"

Despite the dull fear digging through his body, Ohio managed a chuckle.

"For such a strange girl, you're not all that unusual sometimes." He removed his hat and stared at it. His voice lied about his confidence and she probably knew it. "Candace was like that with a boy back home once. Honestly, I'm flattered. But, even if I'm going to die – which seems likely, given your actions – I'm still going to try to rescue them."

She pinched the bridge of her nose painfully, closing her eyes to squeeze out some tears, and he guessed that she would have denied the existence of any such tears. Her eyes were still moist when she looked up, and he couldn't help but smile gently. _Well done Flynn, _he thought_, you made a little kid cry._

"You… Do you know how old I am, you arrogant little boy?"

"I'd guess about twelve," said Ohio. "Originally. And I think that's where you are right now."

"Did… did you see those visions? You saw the things people do to each other, and you'd still go back…" She paused in thought, and a spark of an epiphany crossed her face. "Huh. That proves me wrong, doesn't it? About people?"

"Well, I'm not so great," said Ohio. "Bit cowardly."

He held out his hand, and realised that he was beginning to cry too. The beach was fading, the sands rising up only to disappear grain by grain. The black cliffs seemed to recede and sink, but into what, he couldn't say. The sky was opening above him, and he thought he felt the heat of the Australian outback.

"My real name's Francis," said Ohio. "I'll see you around."

The kelpie was hesitant at first, before shaking his hand, smiling broadly. "Catherine. At least originally."

"Goodbye Catherine."

"Goodbye Francis."

She was gone, and he was enveloped in that same light, remembering the stand-off as it occurred, seeing his prone body, Rains and Irving falling into open time. He felt the last bite of fear before he ground his teeth and hurtled back towards reality. He could still hear her.

"You can see all throughout time here Francis. Ye know, there's no one in it I like better than you."

* * *

"Ohio! We need to go now!"

_Isabella. Oh, right._

His eyes snapped open in time to see a shower of tiny rocks cascade past her hair. There was crack in the wall where the light had emerged, and it was spreading steadily, heralded by a groan. The Smiling Rock was tearing itself apart. Isabella smiled in relief and pulled him back to his feet.

"Cover your head, and run!"

He wasn't about to contradict that. As he turned, he caught a glimpse of Ferrea twitching under a large rock. He thought she might have been crushed, but it was possible she was still using cover. Ironside was rising behind her. Ohio was alarmed enough to lose sight of where he was going and stumbled.

"God, Ohio, this is Juatchadoon all over again!" Isabella pulled him to his feet and they ran from the room, but not before he grabbed what he'd landed on.

Even while running he kept snatching glances at the revolver. It looked like it was Seven's – or had belonged to Seven. Seven was dead. Had to be. He was pretty sure it was the Irishman's gun though – along the barrel was the engraving 'Eat my metal dick'.

"Isabella."

She gave no notice under the groan of the rock. Ohio was very aware of the size of the landmark now – since the power had left the rock with the explosion, it did not seem nearly as vast and oppressive. To his left, Sweetwater and Kriemhild were struggling to free a small child from some sort of jail cell. He shouted to them too, but they were barely taking notice of anything except the boy's safety.

"Must go faster," Isabella was muttering next to his ear. "Must go faster."

There was a crack like a whip, and the immense cave wall teetered towards them. Ohio yelped and scurried low, still mostly propelled by Isabella's hold on his collar. He could hear shouting – it sounded like Kriemhild and Sweetwater had to go the other way around. He could see the red plains ahead though, and he was ready to welcome the blistering Australian heat. Anywhere was paradise after the rock.

The sunlight was almost like water. He grinned, sinking to the floor, relishing the open air. Isabella collapsed beside him, laughing manically. For a moment, the kelpie's words were forgotten – he had faced death and scraped by once again.

"When you stopped… for that gun I thought we were dead… you idiot," Isabella said between breaths, but she was far from angry.

"Sorry. Ironside… Ironside was right behind us… panicked…"

"Do you think they made it?" Her breathing was returning to normal, and Ohio noted with annoyance that she was in better shape than him.

"I thought Sweetwater and Kriemhild… Candace? I didn't see her back there…"

"Too much to hope Ironside's dead, right?"

Ohio turned over. He could hear a distant rumbling. Isabella noticed it too, and her face lit up as she saw the people in the distance.

"The message got through! Irving got the parents!"

Ohio did not feel as joyful. The fear was back – this was what the girl had warned against.

* * *

Ironside was not dead. What Ironside was, was extremely angry. The rock had stopped shaking, momentarily supported as it leaned in on itself. Its power was gone though – he could feel its absence. Growling, he touched the handle of his revolver and began to search for an exit.

"Dad…" It was barely a whimper.

Ferrea was lying under a large lump of rock, a small pool of blood spreading from somewhere underneath. She was struggling to raise her head, and her free arm was twitching madly, heavily scarred. He could hear kicking, as if her legs were doing the same, like a trapped spider.

"Dad, help… I can't lift it myself…"

Ironside ignored her and kicked a mound of rubble out of his path. He knew the interior by heart, and so did the children. They would flock to the emergency locations obediently, and he would have some degree of revenge for this debacle.

"All my work…" he said grimly.

The fissures were beginning to spread again, and he lowered his head and struggled on. The Smiling Rock was his place of residence as well of his workplace. He was determined that it would not be his tomb.

"I'm your only daughter…"

He turned his head before he left.

"A bastard daughter. And you never were any use."

* * *

Ohio rose to his feet, still holding Seven's gun. Isabella had her hand on a revolver too, all joviality vanished from her face.

The children surrounded them silently, pointing rifles but issuing no threats or warnings. The aboriginals were barely visible in the distance, but Ohio knew that that distance could be misleading in the outback. They could have been hours away. The supposed leader of the group must have been acting on emergency orders, as after his commands had been issued, he stood as if in wait.

"Isabella."

"I know, I can see them."

"No, Isabella, listen," Ohio said. He was finally calm. "I'm going to die here."

"What, we'll-!"

"Listen to me." His voice was hard, and she instantly stopped talking. "When the parents show up, Ironside will make the children open fire. You know that. They'll be forced to kill their own parents."

Isabella's eyes were dark and resigned. "What do we do?"

"I'm going to kill Ironside. But they'll open fire. I want you to duck down as soon as the shooting starts."

"Nice try, Ohio," she said, gripping her revolver tightly. "But you always were a terrible shot. You make sure he goes down, I'll make sure he stays down."

"Isabella-!"

She kissed him roughly. "I won't leave you Ohio."

Rocks hit the earth with a shudder and a crack, and Ironside emerged into the sun. He was not disoriented by the light, angrily shoving one boy aside as he approached. His gun was drawn, glinting violently.

"Put the guns down Flynn. You're outnumbered." The rage was barely concealed.

Ohio did not raise his voice, talking to Isabella in a near mumble.

"Our lives for all these children. It works out, doesn't it?"

"Yes," she said, her tone matching his.

"Flynn, lower your weapons or I will…"

Ohio smirked as Ironside's rage was replaced by genuine fear. The revolvers fired, and the military man was definitely hit, blood spraying onto and mixing with the red earth. He did not see the rifle fire, but there was a deafening chorus of cracks, like thunder, and Ohio numbly sank to the ground. He felt nothing, just a vague sense of completion. He was not a coward.

He wanted to say something, but nothing but blood came from his mouth.

And when Isabella's pale hand closed around his, he smiled and closed his eyes.

He had not retrieved Ironside, but the stolen children were safe.

Ohio and Isabella slipped away under the intense heat of the sun.

* * *

_Several weeks later_

"Press sticks their nose into everything!" Reginald snapped, hobbling across the tarmac.

"On American soil sir, you'll be sure to own the press with your money."

New York rose before him, and the old man smiled, but there was no warmth in it.

"I bloody better! England's fallen to secret Bolshevism. Here, m'boy, people know what money is worth!"

The party quickly found their path blocked. Three women stood in their way. The old man froze in shock and anger.

Candace Flynn pushed her hat up by the brim and took another picture with her camera. At her shoulder, she was sure Sweetwater was snickering. Kriemhild raised her jacket to display the outline of her gun.

"Hello, Mr Fletcher," said Candace. "It's nice that you kept your name out of that bloodbath in Australia, isn't it?"

Reginald said nothing, but his face turned ashen grey. His assistant wisely moved out of the way.

"You can't prove anything."

"Actually, we can," said Kriemhild. "Ironside left a lot of notes, and he wrote down anything to do with you."

Reginald twitched. "Well so what? I didn't tell him to steal those kids! I didn't! Not that three women – and two of them blacks at that – can touch me for!"

Sweetwater was properly giggling now, and Candace though she was killing the effect, but said nothing, because it was driving Reginald mad. He brandished his stick in a way that was supposed to be threatening but offered no danger to anyone except himself.

"I'm a reporter," said Candace. "You can't blame me for telling the truth Mr Fletcher."

"No eternal life for you," said Sweetwater. "But you'll be famous."

Reginald finally noticed the cars stopped outside the airport. Candace thought he was going to have a heart attack as the New York police closed in. Kriemhild waved a newspaper at him.

"Famous to anyone who read the paper, anyway."

"And the public holds you responsible for the deaths of national heroes."

"Understand?" said Sweetwater. "M'boy?"

They didn't stay to watch as Reginald was hauled into the car. Candace, Sweetwater and Kriemhild stepped away quietly and walked into the bustle of New York. Their victory did not seem as triumphant as they hoped, although it felt as if Ohio and Rhode Island had received some form of justice.

"We got him Candace," said Sweetwater sadly. "What are we going to do now?"

* * *

"_You can hang me in a bottle like a cat… Let the crows pick me clean but for my hat… Where the wailing of a baby meets the footsteps of the dead, we're all mad here…"_

"Shut that off! Fucken hobo music, the lot of it!"

Elliot Rains sighed and switched off the car radio. Seven was leaning over into the front seat, muttering and swearing despite Eights cautions. Irving wisely decided to pull over before they crashed. He had just learned how to drive these modern cars after all.

"Sit down," said the former bartender, "or I'll turn this car around!"

The Thunderbolts all strapped back in, grumbling like overgrown children. Irving rolled his eyes, never quite used to their company. But it was the only comfort he had in this place. He was about to start the engine again when Rains grabbed his shoulder, pointing desperately.

"What?"

"Huh. What, ah, are the odds," said Eight.

"Fuck me," said Seven.

Irving saw it. The group of teenagers strolled past the parked car, oblivious to the fact that they were being watched. The leader, a short boy with bright red hair and blue eyes, was smiling and explaining something to his companion, a tall, quiet young man with green hair.

Irving's shock spread into a low smile. "What _are _the odds?"

"Perhaps this lifetime is short a Rains, some twins and a bartender," said Eight, grinning broadly.

"I bet that would confuse them," laughed Irving.

"Any universe missing the awesome me is under-fucken-privileged."

Rains chuckled at first, before bursting into his full blown laugh. The others looked to him as he watched Phineas and Ferb disappear down into Danville.

"Filthy assistants, to me! It's a brave new world and all that. Aheheh. Time we had a look around!"

* * *

**The end**

**Okay, late and kinda short yeah, but I didn't want to drag it on too long. And I actually spared Candace again, as well as Sweetwater and Kriemhild. Ironside was going to execute them as they were stunned in the rubble, but then I remembered Reginald. So lucky them, I guess. It also allowed me to reference the last line of The Proposition, so there.**

**The kelpie was sitting on the beach from Local Hero. You can all start humming 'Going Home' now.  
**

**Funny how everyone who falls through time ends up in Danville, huh? Although it's more of a joke to end on more than anything else. This arc's been great fun, and I guess I'll be wrapping up soon.**

**Coming soon, to an archive near you!**

**The VR chapter (still haven't thought of a title) will allow most characters their final proper appearance. After that is a two parter, which started as Adyson's VR session, but was too good an idea to pass up. I'm always referencing Alice In Wonderland, so I thought it'd be nice to end on – titled 'Kommienezuspadt: The Night Adyson Ate Too Much Cheese', it's as demented an Adyson In Wonderland two-parter could hope to be. See you soon!**


	19. The Midnight Channel

**The Midnight Channel**

* * *

Phineas stretched out under the tree, an action that was becoming increasingly difficult these past years – his thinking spot was a little too small for too eighteen year-olds. Then again, if he didn't spend time on his projects he supposed he'd have to get a job to stave off boredom, and he did not particularly fancy being told how to think. The day was a little too hot to start building at the moment, and he found his mind wandering.

"Ferb?"

His step-brother tilted his head, a tiny indication that he had heard.

"You ever think about those VR chambers?"

Ferb shrugged.

"They always struck me as a missed opportunity," said Phineas. "I would have liked to have seen what certain people created."

"Not us though," said Ferb, the edge of his mouth twitching upwards.

"Yeah, we create whatever we want anyway. But it would have been interesting, huh? If you could just see what people wanted."

"Teenagers? I think the realities would go along similar lines…"

Phineas wondered if this was a joke about sex. Ferb constantly made such allusions, but they just tended to confuse Phineas, who had only learned what it was at age twelve and had always regarded it as something that interested everyone but him. This would probably have gained him a lot of mockery, but he was unlikely to notice that either.

"You're starting to sound like Gretchen, Ferb. Not everyone falls into categories. Imagine the world of possibilities open to all those different minds. A therapist's field day, too."

Phineas groaned and slid further down in his seat until only his head was touching the tree. Ferb silently mimicked him, rather interested by his step-brother's theory. Phineas talked for a huge amount of time, stopping only to check Ferb's acknowledgements and disagreements regarding the speculation.

* * *

**Dead Insufferable**

**Starring Gretchen Kriemhild**

"Well," said Gretchen, eyes sparking triumphantly behind flashing lenses. "I warned you. I warned you all this day would come, but no one listened! Who's laughing now?"

Adyson and Irving grabbed onto her legs, and Isabella scampered about aimlessly, panic overriding any sort of coherence. Phineas and Ferb had sunk to the floor after slamming the clubhouse door behind them, out of breath and in complete shock. The door shuddered, under attack from the other side. Bloodthirsty moans could be heard, but their attackers were block from sight by blackout curtains.

"Yes," Gretchen continued, enjoying herself immensely, "The dead are rising and feasting on the living! I told you it would happen! I was the only person prepared for this!"

Isabella stopped in her tracks, tearful but trying to grasp at her fallen pride. She bit on her shaking fist before sinking to her knees in front of Gretchen.

"I'm so sorry, Gretchen!" Isabella wailed. "You should have been Fireside Chief! You're the smartest person in the whole world. Forgive meee!"

Gretchen began to grin smugly when shattering glass interrupted her maniacal gloating. An undead wrestled madly under the blackout curtain, lifting it momentarily to reveal a crowd of rotting, vacant faces, many of which had previously belonged to friends and family. The creatures seemed to grasp the concept of the window, flailing arms suddenly grabbing at the frame. More glass fell to the wooden floor as Linda Flynn-Fletcher's decaying head pushed through.

Phineas and Ferb recoiled in horror, Adyson and Irving looking to their new saviour expectantly.

There was a click as Linda clambered into the lodge, followed by a swift impact of metal on skin. Bones cracked, and Linda's head landed with a dull knock and the soft splatter of blood. Gretchen smirked as the automated guillotine raised itself back into the rafters.

"There's a guillotine in my clubhouse?" Isabella's voice was amusingly high-pitched.

"Please," said Gretchen. "I've worked security on this building for ten years."

"Oh Gretchen, you're ever so smart!"

"Naturally," said Gretchen. "Let's see my sister match this."

Of course, her sister would probably be a zombie by now, but that was no big loss. What impressed Gretchen the most (aside from her own intelligence) was that Adyson was completely unable to form a sarcastic remark or even begin a pop-culture reference. No, all eyes were on Gretchen Kriemhild.

In all honesty, a zombie apocalypse was the best thing that could have happened to humanity. No more listening to the inane prattling of people-she-was-smarter-than-although-somehow-never-got-the-chance-to-prove. No more court cases where she was unfairly accused of breaking-and-entering, no more anxiety about being caught wearing men's underwear… Gretchen was in paradise.

"I told you it was the cell phones!" she cried triumphantly as she pulled her sawn-off shotgun from under the desk.

"How long has that been…" Adyson began, but remembered she was supposed to be awed.

"Gretchen," said Irving, grovelling. "I love you! I've just been a terribly cowardly idiot about it until now!"

Gretchen laughed, a strangely joyful noise that she would never have made in reality. Here she was herself.

_Perhaps a little exaggerated_, she thought, as the door began to buckle under the weight of bodies and she fired both barrels into a splintered mess of wood and flesh.

"Everyone into the tunnels!" Gretchen said, and they _obeyed._

_If only people followed my every command in real-life… _

She was the last one into the tunnels, the mechanical doors slowly closing as the horde of the undead poured into the clubhouse. She met eyes with the face of the boy she hated so much, and his blank sightless eyes rested on her.

The undead 27 stumbled towards the closing doors. Irving and Adyson squealed and clung to each other in fright. Gretchen stood unflinching as the walking corpse picked up speed and was upon them just before the safety of the metal door would cover them.

"Smile, you son of a bitch," said Gretchen, pulling the trigger and painting the roof of the tunnel with the inside of 27's head.

In the safety of the tunnels, she was rightfully proclaimed as the smartest and most practical person in Danville. All was right with the world.

* * *

**Town Called Malice**

**Starring Thomas Rains**

It was summer in England, and the evidence for this was already audible – the vicious slap of a football on pale skin followed by the wailing of an unfortunate victim that provided the soundtrack for the age-old tradition of Red Arse.

In this case the unfortunate victim was none other than Bob, who looked profoundly unhappy as he turned his back on the line of boys and steeled himself for another injury. Thomas grinned, set the football in place, and let himself have a run up, even if it was against the rules. It wasn't against _his _rules.

Bob yelped hilariously as Thomas punted the football off his fat rear-end for the twentieth time that day.

"Your turn Ferb. Heh."

"Y'know, I think we're supposed to swap places once in a- GAH!"

"Aw shut up, ya fat shite," said 27, taking the words out of Thomas' mouth.

Ferb met and matched Thomas' grin, and the blond knew that Fletcher could only ever be happy here. None of this America nonsense – a seemingly endless summer, a group of friends who could not be replaced. The events in the real world were forgotten, and even the days spent with Ferb in the past were improved upon.

"Thomas should go again!" said 28, who was barely wearing any clothes.

"Yes, Thomas is clearly better than all of us," said Ferb, finally admitting the truth.

The five of them ran through the streets for hours afterwards, kicking the ball into windows, over cars and through fences in the delirium of the game. If Thomas didn't want it to, the day would never end – they could continue their destructive game of football for all eternity and nobody would ever need to go for dinner.

He had rewritten the very history of the world. Dad never existed, just a glorified shadow, but Mum was rich enough to provide for everything and she never left. As far as Thomas was concerned, Smile Away didn't exist and neither did a stupid little insignificant backwater called Danville.

They skidded to a halt at the base of a particularly steep hill. 27 had been concentrating so much that the sudden stop propelled him for several feet to land in a swearing heap on the tarmac.

Rains sniggered and stepped over the groaning obstacle, before remembering what he used this section of his world for.

"Leave me alone for a bit," he said quietly, and his friends scurried away without another word. "You too Ferb."

When he was quite sure he was alone, he spread his arms wide and laughed, throwing his head back to be swept up in hysterical triumph. The faces gathered before him offered no defence, no counter-attack. He had finally won. Lord and master of all. All of them had bitterly attempted to refuse him his wishes, but Rains always came through in the end. They had all wasted their lives, scraping by on their pathetic little laws and ideologies. He joyfully noted that there was never a more appropriate time for that Bobby Darin song.

"Well look at me now," Thomas Rains said. "Ironside. Ferrea. Phineas. Isabella. Dad. How are you all doing? Aheh."

And of course, the time where they could have answered was long since past. Not even the proud, intimidating figure of Ironside held any power or mystery hanging from the upside down cross, nothing but a scavenged monument to Rains' success. Phineas Flynn had a crow searching the interior of his skull right at that moment. Ferrea's body threatened to split in two and fall to earth like a ripe fruit.

But after a while, the laughter and joy subsided and he began to experience a strange sort of sadness. He didn't think it was remorse, at least, because he would do it over and over again.

It took Thomas a long time to pinpoint his feelings.

"I didn't have to do this."

He had what he wanted – a home, friends, endless freedom. These people, these corpses served no purpose other than an outlet for his malice.

And the more he thought about it, the more he realised that he did have to do it. There was too much hatred in him even after the impossible had been achieved. That poison just refused to leave.

And despite all the friends he could want, Thomas felt lonelier than ever before.

* * *

**Silence In The Library**

**Starring 27 and 28**

It was like a city. A huge sprawl of a city, hundreds of years contained within its walls, bookcases stretching to the ceiling in a parody of skyscrapers. Instead of cars darting below however, there was only one squeaky-wheeled trolley, although what it lacked in physical resemblance to a car it more than made up for in speed. It shot through aisles, stopping at select moments, sometimes extending a small ladder to reach the higher shelves. Eventually it came to a halt at the entrance to the library, where a boy was carving the word 'fuck' onto a banister.

"Must you graffiti the library?" said 28.

"It's my world too," said 27, hoping that his brother wouldn't notice 'bitches and whores' spray painted over the doors.

28 did in fact notice 'bitches and whores' spray painted over the doors. "Classy as usual."

27 leaned back on the steps. "I aim to please. What's up with you, I thought you'd be pleased with all these books."

28 nodded, and pulled his brother onto the book trolley before pushing it back into the book metropolis. They stopped at a lone bookshelf in the centre of the maze, one with far less books than the others. 28 gestured towards it.

"Here's the books I've read. I, ah, took what I could get."

"…Kay," said 27, not quite following.

28 turned around. "But I haven't read all these books." He spread his arms and gestured to the whole library. "So they don't actually contain anything."

"The fuck?"

28 approached a bookcase and selected a random book. He opened it and displayed the empty pages to his twin.

"See? I can give it the title 'The Divine Comedy', but I've not read it in real life, so there's no content. There's no, ah, point in a library with no words, you understand."

The Divine Comedy promptly exploded. 28 looked around in shock and 27 lowered a smoking pistol.

"You shot Dante's…"

"Goddamn Dante. Poetry writing faggot Catholic."

28 massaged the bridge of his nose. "Why?"

"So fucken what if you haven't read them? You've got plenty of space, write your own fucken books."

For once, it took 28 a moment to catch up with his brother. 27 smiled happily as he watched the idea form in his brother's mind. 28 took a step away from the book trolley and glanced back at all the bookcases before he broke into a beaming grin. 27 felt quite pleased with himself.

"You're right! I have the freedom to create what I want! There's no Smile Away here. In fact, all I really need are readers."

27 looked up, having been affectionately nuzzling his pistol. "Yeah, just bring in Luce and Bob. And Rains, if we must."

It had been a long time since 28 had ever looked so happy, and he nodded enthusiastically. He jumped back on the trolley, ready to burst out into an incoherent jumble, but controlled himself.

"Look Seven, I've got an idea too!"

"What?"

28 punched 27 between the legs so hard that the gun fanatic was launched from the trolley. He groaned and looked up, red in the face.

"That fucken hurts!" 27 yelled, his voice extremely high.

Then it dawned on him.

"It hurts!" said 28.

"It hurts like fuck!" said 27, writhing on the ground, but laughing madly. "It hurts and it's fucken amazing!"

* * *

**(Nothing But) Flowers**

**Starring Lucy Ferrea**

There wasn't much to say really. Not that she would need to say much. Fenris padded along beside her, occasionally running ahead and rubbing his snout along the fields and rolling in the dirt. Lucy sometimes let go of her calm demeanour and rushed after him, diving among the foliage like a five year old and wrestling with Fenris.

The hour was merely a detail – the world was peaceful and warm at all times, and she could change it as easily as she could change her mind. In front of her stood Danville, although it had undergone a significant improvement, overgrown with bright greenery that glinted in the sun.

And most importantly, there was not a single human being.

This time she ran ahead, Fenris barking just behind her, his little paws providing the loudest sound for miles. The sky was empty and the roads were gone. She ran through the suburbs and watched the woods extend and reclaim the houses and gardens. At the beach the gates and walls gave way and the sea crept in. The tallest buildings fell and became nothing more than relics, ruined temples in a rainforest.

Unable to contain herself, she found herself cart-wheeling through the centre of town, exhausting even Fenris. Laughing, she flopped into the grass, which was become long and tangled, obscuring the plaque on the monument nearby.

"We're free."

Fenris mirrored her movements and lay down beside her, his head resting on her stomach. She giggle and felt him move every time she breathed. Eventually, she flicked her eyes skyward and gazed for hours. Fenris fell asleep as she just stared unblinking. The clear blue sky became a dark blue and was decorated with millions of stars, all visible.

Lucy Ferrea smiled. All was right with the world.

* * *

**Rollercoaster**

The tent was quiet, but it was tenuous. The crowd were ready, like greyhounds waiting for the gates to open. As the speaker approached the microphone, they let their breath escape in a brief wave and then quickly breathed in, their limbs shaking, threatening to explode into sheer enthusiasm at a moment's notice. The speaker noticed this and cleared a dry throat, not far from this state either.

"Ladies and gentlemen."

There was a squelch as the crowd all leaned forward simultaneously, the mud beneath the grass rising to the surface. In some places it splashed onto bare legs and the speaker grinned. Tents, mud, heat – it was almost like a music festival. All it needed now was the spectacle.

"Boys and girls." The speaker was drawing out the words, shivering at the tension created.

Even outside it seemed as if the world had gone quiet. The tent leaned slightly in a breeze, but the wind itself was silent.

The speaker was a redhead, loud and theatrical, all gestures and costume, but it certainly created the desired effect. The microphone boomed from proximity as the unnecessary pauses grew less frequent.

"Children of all ages."

A whistle as the speaker drew in a breath.

"May I present to you… a spectacle most of the morning in the making…"

There was a high-pitched whine in the microphone as the speaker burst into a booming voice, hands gesticulating wildly.

"THE COOLEST! COASTER! EVER!"

The tent fell away and it was revealed to the general public. A bird squawked and fell from the sky in awe. The breath held in by the crowd was released in a deafening cheer and the thunder of feet rushing towards the largest and most complicated rollercoaster ever built. It wound its way through the entirety of Danville and was even rumoured to reach into outer space.

The world seemed to focus on the rollercoaster, and the speaker stood content as child after child clambered into the cars. Two of the crowd stayed behind and approached.

"Wow," said Phineas. "Did you build this all by yourself.

The speaker turned to look at them.

"Yes," said Candace Flynn. "Yes I did."

* * *

**For the record, Isabella's extended 'meee' in Gretchen's world is something that always makes me laugh. No matter what you're writing, extending the necessary letters in a word is funny, which is why 'NOOO!' should never be written seriously. I don't care if it's supposed to sound like a long 'no', I'm always going to read it as if Noo-Noo is having a stroke.**

**I've always thought that jealousy plays into Candace's busting motive a lot more than she realises.**

**Also in this chapter is confirmation that Thomas actually quite likes 27 and is just being a troll whenever they interact. They are actually fairly similar characters at heart.**

**I'd probably imagine the giant library too, boring as you may think it sounds.  
**

**So anyway, thanks for reading, see you next week, awaaaaaay!**


	20. Kommienezuspadt: Part One

**Kommienezuspadt **

**Or**

**The Night Adyson Ate Too Much Cheese**

_**A Mo**__**ſ**__**te Intere**__**ſ**__**tinge Playe In Two Part**__**ſ**_

* * *

The sun was shining on the sea, shining with all its might; it did its very best to make the billows smooth and bright. And this was odd, because it was the middle of the night. Adyson was pondering the terrible misuse of Shakespearian English in the title when the grass rustled with an arrival, interrupting her thoughts. She twisted round, steadying herself against the tree, and looked curiously at the new arrival.

"Hey Irving, how you doing?"

Irving looked slightly different for some reason. His nervous, twitchy disposition was much the same, and his ill-fitting glasses were still placed precariously. He even one of his cameras around his neck, so the essentials were all there. Adyson snapped her fingers as she realised why her friends looked odd.

Irving was a rabbit.

The problem with Danville was that even when something like this happened, Adyson was unsure whether or not to blame Phineas and Ferb or rationalize that she was dreaming. Luckily, little made sense in Adyson's life anyway. Irving the twitchy white rabbit thumped his foot impatiently and brandished a pocket watch.

"That's nice Irving, still obsessed with the time, huh?"

The rabbit flicked its head as if trying to shake of a tick and then yelled at her.

"Kommienezuspadt?" said the white rabbit. "Kommienezuspadt! Sie punktlich! Sie punktlich!"

"Yeah, me too," Adyson drawled and cried out when the rabbit shoved her aside. "Hey, watch it Irving! I'll fetch the hammer of Thor if you don't… Huh."

In the space where she had been sitting was a dark tunnel, or at least a pit, that seemed to plummet straight down. Adyson did not remember it being there beforehand and approached it on all fours, just short of sniffing it like a dog.

"And we can't be late!" said Irving, waving the watch again.

Adyson stared dumbly as the bespectacled rabbit leaped into the pit without a moment's notice, very quickly disappearing into the black. There was no sound of impact, and this led to an impulsive decision on Adyson's part.

"Who am I to ditch an age-old tradition?" she said, and dived in head-first.

She had been expecting some sort of slow-motion tumble, perhaps with random objects floating before her eyes, and maybe with meaningful echoes of people telling her something that was to become important. What she received was none of these things. What she received was a terrifying plummet followed by the smack of hard tiles against her face.

"…ow." She was partially merged with the floor, and could just see the Adyson-shaped mark she was going to leave. "Feels like that time Buford fell on me…"

"Kommienezuspadt!" The rabbit was standing beside her, tapping the watch impatiently.

When she pulled herself out of the crater she had made, Adyson afforded herself a look around. The room was tiled in a very 'proper' manner, respectable without much personality. The only door was a tiny little hatch at the base of a wall, and Adyson did not need to be a genius to figure out that she wouldn't fit. There was a bottle of something on the table though, so she took a swig.

Halfway through downing the bottle, she became aware that her legs were tingling. She looked down and realised that the floor was no longer tiled. Actually it was, the tiles were just… much bigger?

"Well done," said the rabbit. "You figured out that the drink would help your size! Good thing you saw the 'drink me' label, right?"

"Drink what?" said the miniature Adyson. "I only drank it cause it looked alcoholic, I didn't notice a label."

The rabbit looked from the bottle to Adyson and then back to the bottle. An ear twitched before Irving's voice became very strained and even more neurotic. "YOU JUST DRANK IT? Don't you read labels? It could have been bleach! You suicidal idiot!"

"Now a minute ago you were praisin' me," Adyson said cheerfully, and approached the door.

There was a crash behind her, and when she looked round, Irving strong-armed her through the door, running from the tidal wave that had erupted from the smashed bottle. She thought about calling the rabbit out on his stupidity here, but they were soon near-deafened as the liquid crashed into their backs. Adyson held her breath and rode the wave out, not wishing to become any smaller.

"Kommienezuspadt!" said the white rabbit, clinging to her head above the sea.

Adyson solely wished she could say something, but she didn't want to risk vanishing, and swam to shore, flopping onto the sand like an exhausted packhorse. The white rabbit was already up, bouncing towards a forest in the distance.

"Wait up!" Adyson began running before she was fully up and nearly collided with some sort of bird.

"I beg your pardon!" said the dodo.

"Sorry," said Adyson, immediately forgetting the white rabbit. "Hey, are you a pharmacist?"

"I'm an evil dodo," the bird snapped, and waddled over to a rock. Using it as a podium, he waved his stubby little wings and shouted, "Evil Caucus Race!"

"That sounds-!" Adyson found herself trampled into the ground as thunderous paws charged over the sand. "…eep."

When she looked up from her second crater that day, muttering obscenities about the author, the dodo was performing a strange sort of dance on the rock, twirling and flailing his wings about. Pinky the Chihuahua, Perry the Platypus and Fenris the Labrador were sprinting around him repeatedly, barking and growling and generally thrashing about as if they had indeed been washed up by that wave. All of them were wearing hats for some reason.

"Dogs and a platypus wearing hats. A pharmacist dodo. Dear readers, either you're on drugs, or I am."

She kept low as she left the beach, clawing her way along the sand – if she was already on the ground, she figured, it was less likely for her to get slammed into it. The forest had a thin path stretching just short of the beach that appeared to be made of artificial grass. It actually made the forest rather disconcerting to Adyson, who had never seen so much grass under a canopy like that. Perhaps it was her height, she thought.

"I'd guess I'm about three inches high right now. Heh, still bigger than Irving's-!"

"SIE PUNKTLICH!"

"AH!"

The white rabbit was towering over her impatiently, the nervous jitters still twitching its head at awkward intervals. He managed to turn and run all at once – twisting in the air as he jumped backwards, and Adyson found herself running through shoulder-high grass that tailed off and led into crumpled brown leaves. She slipped and shuddered at the thick wet mud that clung to her forearms, but chased the white rabbit through the tree-trunks. Despite the sunlight, it was very cold on the forest floor, and she realised how disgustingly wet her clothes were.

The white rabbit stopped and thumped his foot. Adyson had not noticed the smoke until now, and followed the paw until she saw the mushroom.

"Hurm," said the caterpillar on the mushroom. "Who are you?"

"Finally," said Adyson, approaching the mushroom. "Someone of my height! We should form a club. We could do parades! Rights for the three-inch tall!"

The caterpillar pushed its spectacles up its nose, and they flashed dangerously. It jammed the hookah in its mouth rather forcefully, as if t needed another hit every time it heard Adyson speak. To be fair, it probably did. Most people found her exhausting.

"Who are you?" said the caterpillar, what looked like a jaw set firmly.

"Uh… I… well you see…"

"I do not see," snapped the caterpillar.

"I'm getting all muddled," said Adyson. "I'm not the right size, and I'm stuck in some sort of clichéd parody of Alice…"

"Why?" The caterpillar was looking down its pipe. Adyson thought it needed to relax, but she guessed she'd probably break the hookah if she tried to shove cannabis in it.

"I don't know why…"

"You?" The caterpillar leaned forward contemptuously. "Who are you?"

"You know, Gretch, you're still actually more of a douche in real life."

Adyson glanced round and was both fascinated and horrified – the white rabbit was gazing at the caterpillar with an expression that could only be interpreted as full of longing. Adyson felt like she needed a shower.

"So, I'm kind of muddled and…"

"Sing," said the caterpillar, crawling to the edge of the mushroom.

"Oh, eh… There's a hundred-and-four days of summer vacation before…"

"Wrong. Incorrect."

"Harold the horny hunter, had an enormous horn …"

"No."

"My milkshake brings all the…"

"No, definitely not. Were you dropped on your head as a child?"

Adyson did not know if she should have been offended, because Gretchen had suggested that theory before and it actually seemed fairly plausible. Instead, she straightened out her dress and smiled in an attempt to be charming. The caterpillar arched a part of its face that could very well have been an eyebrow.

"Can you get me back to normal? Please Gretch?"

"You were never normal," snapped the caterpillar.

"Well, I…"

"Who are you?"

"Just do it!" Adyson said, raising her voice to a whine. "Pleasepleasepleaseeeeeeeeeeee…"

The caterpillar attempted to use the hookah pipe like a flail, and missed Adyson's head just barely. Eventually it sighed and shifted back to its original position, where it eyed the white rabbit with a strange expression.

"One side will make you grow taller, and the other side will make you grow shorter."

It slid down from its perch and began to crawl off into the undergrowth. Its glasses bounced whenever it moved, clinging to the face. Adyson suppressed the urge to laugh and thought over the goodbye.

"Side of what?" she called.

"THE MUSHROOM, YOU UTTER IDIOT!" The caterpillar screamed back, but it was out of sight by that point.

The white rabbit made a retching noise as Adyson happily bit off a chunk of the mushroom. Mid-bite, she wondered if she should be accepting strange mushrooms from people she didn't quite know, but what the hell, it was a dream. Her clothes should not have shrunk or grown, but she was willing to overlook this flaw in logic. Other people were frequently naked in Adyson's dreams, but she preferred her apparel to be slightly more… present.

"Finally," she muttered, as she passed five feet.

The white rabbit did not look overjoyed – in fact, he was jittering even worse than before. He was not looking at her however. Two waxworks were standing side by side underneath a nearby tree, each with an arm around the other's neck. Adyson narrowed her eyes, and promptly jabbed the closest one in the stomach.

"Fuck!" said Tweedle-Seven.

"You could have, ah, said hello first," said Tweedle-Eight.

"Tweedledum and Tweedledee aren't in Alice's Adventures In Wonderland," said Adyson. "You don't come in until the sequel. The author is either an idiot, or something horrible is about to happen. Although, something horrible always happens…"

Beside her, Irving was shivering madly. Something about the twins had frozen him to the spot. Adyson remembered the term invented for this state by Richard Adams in Watership Down – scared rabbits go tharn. And with his twisted head, eyes firmly focused on the threat but legs unmoving, that was certainly what the white rabbit was doing. Going tharn.

"Maybe we wanted to appear," said Tweedle-Seven, eyeing the white rabbit.

"Contrarily," said Tweedle-Eight, "we didn't. Would you like to hear a story?"

Adyson shook her head emphatically and took the white rabbit's paw. Irving's eyes turned to her, pleading. Tweedle-Eight made a disappointed noise and held out his hand.

"It's a good story, look."

He opened his palm and two miniature figures unfurled, crossing his hand like it was some great pale beach. Adyson recognized the figures as Buford and Baljeet, but only vaguely – Baljeet was dressed strangely and Buford appeared to have tusks. She could hear Buford's tiny voice in that brief moment.

"The time has come," the bully said, "to talk of many things: of shoes – and ships – and sealing wax – of cabbages – and kings – and why the sea is boiling hot – and whether pigs have wings."

Irving's shaking was so bad at this point that Adyson began to back away, dragging him back towards the path. The twins watched with unreadable expressions, until they began to resemble waxworks once again.

"He's late," said Tweedle-Eight.

"For a very important date," said Tweedle-Seven.

The waxwork look was complete now, and Adyson gasped in surprise as something became visible behind Tweedle-Seven's eye. The pupil stretched out and burst, and something black and sharp gripped the cheekbone. Adyson began to back into a run as she realised that the thing was a talon, and was being joined by more. The skin stretched and eventually tore as the gryphon pushed its way out. Feathered wings exploded from the back, splashing blood and scattering bone like it was nothing.

The gryphon perched on top of the Tweedle-Seven body, perched on shoulders that were lacking a head.

"You were right. Wrong fucken book," said the gryphon, and flew straight at them.

Adyson sprinted along the path, clutching Irving' paw as tightly as she could. There was a house in the distance – if she could reach it, she could shelter Irving and- Her arm was roughly yanked in front of her, and the gryphon screamed, pulling the struggling rabbit tighter in its claws. The rabbit gave her a helpless little smile and let go.

The gryphon flapped away, rising higher and higher until her cries of 'Irving' were completely useless. She turned a quick glance, but her suspicions were confirmed – Tweedle-Eight was gone too. His body was empty in the same way, but she had not seen where the mock-turtle had headed. She doubted the gryphon would circle back to retrieve him though.

"Need to get help," she said, not meaning to speak aloud.

Wildly, she ran towards the house from before – a large sort of manor, slightly aristocratic in appearance. No doubt there were Rules About Etiquette for such a place. Irving was in danger though, so Adyson demonstrated exactly how she felt about Rules About Etiquette.

"LEMME IN!"

She charged towards the door, expecting some resistance. About two inches from impact, the door swung open of its own accord and Adyson flew straight into the house, grinded along the floorboards and left another Adyson-shaped crater.

"…why can't I dream of nice things?" She raised her head and sneezed violently.

She was pulled to her feet and turned around by the shoulders extremely swiftly, and she found herself face-to-face with a giant robot man wearing a chef's outfit. He shook her almost violently, but it did not appear to be malicious.

"I'M COOKING," said the robot. "MORE PEPPER!"

He cast Adyson aside and retracted his hands, replacing them with gigantic pepper-shakers. Adyson groaned and prepared for another sneezing fit, while wisely edging away from Norm the Chef. She held her nose and looked around the rest of the house.

On the mantelpiece lounged a cat, a blonde creature with rather too many teeth and an apparently permanent grin. Its apparent owner, however, brought a smile to Adyson's face.

"Isabella!"

Isabella rose from her seat, curtseying slightly.

"Duchess," she corrected, and her high-pitched voice was laced with a nasally quality, and Adyson suspected the pepper had something to do with it.

"Oh, sorry. You… your cat is grinning," Adyson said lamely. She had always felt slightly flustered in Isabella's presence.

"He's a tom cat," said the Duchess. "He's also a dirty little troll."

"PEPPER!"

A huge wad of soggy pepper skimmed past Adyson's ear and over the Duchess' head, but the noblewoman did not react at all. She was actually sneezing quietly every few seconds, and Adyson decided not to comment on it. The Duchess was probably irritable enough with all that pepper.

"I need your help-!"

"Oh, so now you need help," said the Duchess. "When have you ever given it?"

"What? I… Irving's in danger!"

"As was Gretchen. Duck."

"PEPPER!"

"What are you talking about?" Adyson said as she rose back up.

"Ignorance is bliss, but only for you," said the Duchess.

Adyson was getting extremely confused by this point. "Look, I need to find my friend – small, nervous type. Wears glasses. Says 'Kommienezuspadt' a lot. Oh, and he's a rabbit."

"PEPPER!" Norm shouted again, and threw another cluster across the room. Unsurprisingly, the cat had disappeared.

"Everything's got a moral," said the Duchess. "If only you can find it. Anyway, I'm due to meet the queen soon, so get out."

Adyson decided that she had better leave the house before Norm hit her, it was certainly only a matter of time. Besides, the Duchess was useless. Groaning, she brushed past the Fireside Chief and exited through the front door, mainly because it was the door furthest away from the pepper-obsessed chef. It would be easier to just ask around and see where the gryphon lived. It hadn't harmed Irving, at least not to her knowledge, so she thought she still had a decent chance.

Adyson thought back to what she knew of Alice In Wonderland. If she remembered correctly, she was supposed to have taken a baby from the Duchess, which would turn into a pig. She decided not to bring this plot point up.

"The author would dump me with the baby from Eraserhead if I did," she complained.

It felt odd walking down the path now that she was normal-sized. This Wonderland of hers was beginning to seem even more artificial, organized in chaos, with fake grass and lined trees. Only one tree seemed to disobey the rules – heavy branches reaching over the path. Adyson found herself looking up as if it was significant.

"And who are you, the proud lord said, that I must bow so low…"

Adyson muttered, but did not attempt to find the source of the singing. If she knew anything, the singer would be along shortly. Hopefully he had a better personality than he did singing voice.

"Only a cat of a different coat, that's all the truth I know. A coat of gold, a coat of red, a lion still has claws, and mine are long and sharp my lord, as long and sharp as yours… Wotcher, Adyson."

She jumped at being addressed so suddenly, but there was certainly no one nearby. There was a curious shape hovering above the branch of the tree however, resembling a crooked crescent moon. It widened as she noticed it, and teeth became visible. Eyes opened, striped fur took shape and soon the rest of the cat was visible.

"Hi Thomas. Am I dreaming of you too, or did you wander through the fourth wall again?"

The Cat grinned even wider. "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good," it said. "Heh."

"Only the real you would be that unhelpful."

"Perhaps I just understand proper story structure. You can't have all the answers right now. Aheh. But they did go down this way."

"Who did?"

"He did."

"He did?"

"Who did?"

"The white rabbit?"

"What rabbit?" The Cat faded out from the branch of the tree. Adyson felt a weight on her shoulders, and the Cat was suddenly there, draped around her neck. He purred loudly against her ear. "I find it flattering to be in your dream…"

Adyson flicked its tail away, feeling very uncomfortable. Blonde fur was brushing against her face, and his whiskers were tickling her nose.

"Just tell me where the white rabbit went… Ah…" she sneezed into the Cat's tail.

The grin disappeared for a moment as the Cat shook its tail with a look of disgust. "Thank you, I'll now be coated in pepper. I'm not the only thing in these woods, so I wouldn't go around sneezing on people."

"Thomas, you glorified furry, either get out of my face or get out of my dream. Where do I go next?"

The weight disappeared from her shoulders. The Cat reappeared further down the path, smoothing its paws over its head as if it had styled hair.

"That way lives a Hatter. That way lives a March Hare. Aheh."

"Finally," said Adyson, and resumed walking. "I'll go for the Hare, it's kinda like a rabbit, right?"

The Cat shrugged.

Adyson took one last look back at the Cat. "You not coming? I'll see you later then."

"You know why you're here, right? Guilty conscience... Heheh."

"For what?"

"You'll need my help more than I thought... _Ady_."

"Please don't call me that, it makes me feel like I need a shower. In fact, being around you makes me feel like that."

"Watch out for the bland man," he called.

She turned back at this strange warning. The Cat grinned even wider as its body began to unravel and disappear. Only the eyes and grin remained, staring after her.

"Mischief managed," said the Cat, and disappeared completely.

* * *

**It is I, Adyson! I'm taking over the author's notes! I can see you, especially you! Stop picking your nose and thinking about sex, and pay attention to me! Who needs a boring old Scottish burr for this bit when you can have my comforting Southern drawl? Can you stand on your head? I can and then I go pffffttt…**

**She's not taking over anything. Hello again. The Cheshire Cat's 'who did' 'who did what' exchange is almost straight from the book, just a little more infuriating and unhelpful. It occurs to me that Rains and Irving may be the only ones who have become the animals they get compared with. Unless you count 27 due to the eagle parts of the gryphon.  
**

**I was going to skip the Caucus Race originally and have the animals appear as croquet clubs later, but I decided to remove croquet altogether. Doofenshmirtz was going to be the cook, ****so Norm was a bit last minute.**

**Adyson knows everyone thanks to having no respect for the fourth wall, so she knows Rains a bit. I think they'd get on. The places of other people show how she feels about them – for example, 27 appears a little funny initially but then quickly turns very dangerous.**

**American McGee'****s Alice played quite a part in this, mainly for the tracks 'Village of the Doomed' and 'Tweedle-dee and Tweedle-dum'. Plenty of references to other things though. And obviously, Tom Waits' 'Kommienezuspadt'.**


	21. The Real Folk Blues

**The Real Folk Blues**

* * *

Isabella trudged through the field, her boots squelching disgustingly with the slightest movement. It was the same with any Fireside Girl camp though – constant rain leaving everywhere, including tents, looking like Glastonbury had been hit by a flood of biblical proportions. That wasn't to say she didn't enjoy it though, but she was exhausted from the day's activities, and her socks were creating their very own little marsh in her boots.

A change of clothes, especially socks, wait for everyone else to get back, and then a campfire. That was fine by her.

Her tent was open, flaps billowing in the heavy rain. Isabella sighed as she wrung out her beret. Only one person would walk into the Chief's tent like that.

"Chlop. Thlup. Shlup."

Isabella shuddered at the sight that confronted her. Gretchen was crouched in her tent, casually eating cold beans from a can. Some people asked to see you if they wanted to talk to you. This was Gretchen's approach.

"There is a cooking fire," said Isabella. "I could heat those up for you."

"No need. Fine like this."

It didn't look fine. It looked positively horrible. Isabella tried not to look as she hunted for a fresh pair of socks.

"Did you want something Gretchen?"

Gretchen nodded. "You're Fireside Girl Chief. My chief. I fill you in whenever you go into Phineasland."

_Ah, Phineasland… Pay attention. _"I know, we have a good deal going there."

Gretchen scraped out the rest of the can with a fork, creating an agonising sound not unlike nails being dragged down a chalkboard. Isabella shivered a little.

"I'm filling you in now. And advising."

_Hmm. _Isabella was not overly fond of Gretchen's advice. It tended to lean towards extremely cutthroat and ruthless for no real reason. If Isabella was going to the shops, Gretchen' advice would probably recommend breaking into said shops. It was that kind of pointless misanthropy that had ensured they would never be close friends. And Isabella was sure that Gretchen disapproved of her affections for Phineas.

"You are oblivious."

"Yeah, Phineas never listens to what I'm saying," Isabella said as she stuffed her wet sock to the bottom of her bag. "Wait… what?"

"Love irony," said Gretchen, and tossed the empty can over her shoulder. Isabella winced. She was going to have to clean bean juice out of her tent before she gave it back to the lodge.

"What irony? I'm not oblivious!"

"Says you."

"You're being childish Gretchen, what is it?"

"You're busy being infatuated with Flynn, and you miss what's happening right under your nose."

"Well, I…"

"Note to self, if I need to hide something, space under Isabella's nose is a good…"

"Gretchen, shut up!"

The glasses flashed as Gretchen jerked her head towards the chief, and there was a flash of extreme annoyance in a look that lasted no more than a second. Isabella pulled on her new socks and stood up, determined to put Gretchen in her place for once. They held each other's gaze for a while, an unmentioned rivalry dancing between them.

"If you wanted to say something, Gretchen, say it or get out my tent."

Gretchen stood up, back cracking as it moved from its usual hunched position.

"I was trying to tell you that while you go off in Phineasland, Adyson goes off into Isabellaland. You might have noticed."

Isabella did not say anything for a moment. Too many things were running through her head at once. Making a soft 'huh' sound, she flopped back down onto her sleeping bag, and looked up at Gretchen blankly. As she began to make sense of Gretchen's sentence, the less sense she felt it made.

"Adyson's gay?"

"Well done, chief. A few years late, but you finally crossed the finished line." Gretchen crouched down beside her, smirking.

"Why are you telling me?"

"You told me to point out things that you miss. And you missed this. I don't know how you did, but you did."

"But…"

"Wait a minute," chided Gretchen. "I'm not finished gloating, you idiot. This is why I should be chief. Because I know everyone better than you. You're too obsessed with Flynn."

Isabella lightly shoved Gretchen's shoulder, so that the crouching girl tumbled over backwards. "I'm not naming you chief, Gretchen."

"Do what you want."

Isabella lost herself in thought for a while. The more she thought about it, the more obvious it seemed. Adyson always had been more submissive towards her, bizarrely loyal despite her usual attitude. Of course, some people were just like that – like Phineas, he was unwaveringly loyal to his friends. And he was always platonic, she thought grimly. But Adyson? She hadn't mentioned it. This was just…

But it shouldn't change anything, Isabella thought. She didn't feel the same way, and really, Adyson's private life wasn't her business. She felt a degree of anger towards Gretchen for prying into people's secrets.

"Why did you tell me? If you're trying to get her kicked out or something… It doesn't bother me who she…"

Gretchen smirked. "You misunderstand. As always. I'm telling you, so that you know if you ever hurt her feelings, I have another use for this fork."

Gretchen swept out of the tent with that hanging in the air, and Isabella felt more confused than she had at the start of the exchange. It was beginning to occur to her that she didn't know her troop very well at all.

* * *

The abandoned church somehow managed to retain some warmth. The desert-like cold of the surrounding area was successfully shut out in a little oasis. They had been denied re-entry to the hotel by Ironside – the debacle concerning the Chemist had cost them their beds for the night.

The entire town was old and abandoned, ramshackle buildings sliding into disarray. The hotel was supposed to be the same way, but it had been secretly funded and kept over the years. 28 had never really been in the rest of the town but now he crouched in the pews, shaking. The others had made a fire outside, and 27 was attending to his injuries with alcohol. 28 guessed that Bob would be telling a story, Thomas interjecting, and the Voice of Fate would sit impassively, listening to everything.

He had killed someone. At the time, it had seemed like there were no other options, but now…

28 touched the seat in front with his forehead. His eyes were watering, but any real tears had come and gone. The Chemist's body had been reclaimed by Smile Away. They had been instructed to bring him in alive. There was blood crusting on his left cheek, flaking off when he moved.

"Forgive me," whispered 28. "I didn't mean…"

"A Protestant in a Catholic church? Bit of an oxymoron. Aheheh."

"An oxymoron applies to a phrase," mumbled 28. "This is just strange…"

Thomas sat down in the row behind 28 and leaned forward, crossing into the other boy's personal space without a second thought.

"Is this because you shot the Chemist? You really are a wimp."

"Have you ever killed someone?" 28's voice was shaky, but there was a hard edge, a challenge that Thomas picked up instantly.

"No," the English boy said defensively.

"Then you can't say what it's like to…"

Thomas' arm snaked forward, around the Irish boy's neck. 28 could feel the words forming, so close was Thomas' mouth to his ear. "I could kill you right now," Thomas said, his voice dropping an octave.

"You're not a killer Thomas. You just think you are."

The arm retracted and Thomas clambered over to sit beside 28. The Irish boy did kept his eyes ahead, staring straight at the tabernacle. The stain glass windows offered no colour at this time of night, only serving to make the church darker.

"I met you when I came to Smile Away," said Thomas.

28 tilted his head. Rains had a continually changing back-story, and this was the first time he had talked about something where both participants could actually confirm what had happened.

"On the plane," said 28. "You were thrashing about. Attacked everyone who came near you."

"Heh. Yup. I remember you though. Standing with 27, trying to be calm, hiding behind your aunt…"

"I wasn't hiding! I-!" 28 looked down.

Thomas' hand was placed over his own. 28 blushed and tried to find somewhere else to look, but the original image kept flashing before him. Rains was now the one staring at the tabernacle, while 28 was twitching. Oh god, they were in a church, this was a sin, it wasn't happening. _I am going to Hell. Killed someone, now I'm holding hands with a guy in church._

"You were hiding," said Thomas, but it wasn't a sharp correction. His harsh voice had softened considerably. "That's the point though. You're not a killer. You're just a kid, and you're hiding again."

The hand tightened, and 28 smiled nervously. He realised how ridiculous he must have looked, scurrying here, tears evident to everyone. They were dry on his face now. He laughed a little, just a nervous reaction, but Thomas echoed it.

"Thomas?"

"What?"

"Do you, ah, think it's bad that we're not? Killers, I mean. Or that I feel bad about it, anyway?"

Thomas' hand twitched, but it was the other one that moved. He was pointing at 28's face.

"You've got red on you. Heh."

28 groaned and scratched at it as if it would harm him. The dried blood flaked off onto the pew. As if he'd uncovered something beneath, a thought grabbed him at that moment and propelled its way through his nervousness.

"Thomas!" _Didn't mean to shout that. He looks confused. _"Do you think you and I… if ah… I mean, I know what I am, but just because I'm not complete doesn't mean I… I can't help how I feel…" His spluttering over, he turned extremely red. It started up again quite quickly. "Like if I ah, not that I can't help how I feel… N- maybe I can't…"

There was a heavy silence in which Thomas did not move at all. 28 wondered if the other boy had understood. Probably not; he had barely understood it himself. He began wishing for a large pile of books, his hotel room, and to be very far away indeed. _And small. Really small. Far way. And possibly dead. I could run away to Brazil… Oh, great thinking 28, run away to Brazil like a Nazi. Why's he not saying anything?_

_Fucken hell, this must be why 27 swears all the time._

"That was stupid," said Thomas eventually, and 28 paled rapidly.

"We can forget this happened, I ah, didn't…"

"You know what I am. You know how obsessed I am. I know. I am insane, 28. How stupid can you be? You've got to – heh – you've got to wonder what's going through your head to become attached to me."

28 did indeed feel very stupid. It had all made sense a minute ago. Well, not really, but it had seemed a little more natural. Rains tilted his head, watching the Irish boy with an unreadable expression. For a moment, 28 wondered how old Rains really was – he had heard so many different ages, and Rains looked rather a lot like a teenager at that moment.

There came a crash at the front doors of the church. 28 flicked his eyes round. The doors were still closed, but…

"A fucken Catholic church! No wonder this place is haunted!"

"We need shelter," said a calm voice, Ferrea.

"Come on boss, it's not so bad."

"No way. Those spooky bastards'll get us!"

28 snorted with laughter. He turned back to say something to Rains, and that was when the English boy kissed him.

It was over in a second, and 28 was still processing what had happened. He heard Thomas get up from the pew as the doors burst open to reveal the rest of the group. Rains glanced back at 28.

"You're not a bad guy," said Thomas, in the least selfish voice 28 had ever heard. Then the old Rains was back. "Hey, nutless wonder! Your twin's crying his eyes out, the wimp!"

"What!" 27 was vaulting over the pews in an instant. "You limey cocksucker!"

28 didn't bother to look round as Thomas and 27 collided in the aisle, rolling over while punching and biting at one another. Smiling, he stood up and walked over to where Lucy and Bob were standing, too lazy to interfere.

"I'll make you wish yer da pulled out of yer mam, ya Catholic shite!"

"I bet you wished I'd pulled out of your mum!"

The two combatants crashed into pews and fought for what seemed like an age. None of the three observers bothered to interfere. They were veterans of such apathy and had mastered the proper etiquette in such a scenario.

"What were you doing in here anyway?" Ferrea asked, eyebrow raised.

"Ah, Rains was making fun of me," said 28, grinning as 27 and Thomas charged once again.

* * *

**Okay, so I hear you ask about this chapters existence! Remember Dysfunction Actually? It was originally longer, with these bits in it. That would have made it too long, and I hadn't finished them by that point, so they didn't get used.**

**However, as this fic is ending, I hate to leave something left out, so I finished them, changed them up a bit and stuck them back in. Shorter than my usual chapter length, but hey, two updates in one day.**

**If you'll remember, Dysfunction Actually was contrast between Ferrea, Gretchen, Irving and 27. The comparisons here, although I'd usually compare Rains and Adyson for their randomness, is basically that Isabella and Rains, as well as being mortal enemies, are too obsessed with a member of the Flynn-Fletcher family to notice or appreciate anyone else. **

**Adyson is the 'nice' one too in regards to Gretchen and Adyson, same as how 28 is the nice one in comparison with his brother. Although with Gretchen and Adyson, the smart one is also the asshole – the reverse with the twins.**

**Anyway, see you on the next chapter!**


	22. Kommienezuspadt: Part Two

**Kommienezuspadt **

**Or**

**The Night Adyson Ate Too Much Cheese**

**_A Mo__ſ__te Intere__ſ__tinge Playe In Two Part__ſ_**

* * *

Unsurprisingly, the Cat's directions were not accurate. The Hatter and the Hare apparently lived at the one house, and even when Adyson doubled back to check the other path, she ended up at the same house again. She knew that this was physically impossible given the directions of the paths, but by this point she just wanted to get things over with.

"You guys are so busted!"

Adyson breathed a sigh of relief; that voice meant she was about to encounter the good kind of insanity, and not monsters. The voice was followed by the roar of machinery and wheels on metal, the kind of sound that made Adyson suppress a squeal. The backyard was dominated by a bright red rollercoaster, one that reached absurd heights and proportions. Any other person could have chalked its size up to dream logic, but with Phineas and Ferb around, Adyson had seen its like before.

"No room!" they cried as she opened the gate.

Counting Adyson, there were four of them present. The rollercoaster had several cars, each with four seats. Besides, Ferb was apparently a dormouse and wouldn't even take up a full spot. Adyson felt fairly justified in ignoring their cries and sitting down beside the giant neurotic hare. It had Candace's ginger hair, tangled with straw between its considerable ears. It eyed her suspiciously.

"This is one of your friends?" She asked her companion.

Like Isabella, Phineas had not suffered a great change in appearance, his costume proving the only real difference. And Adyson had known him to wear some flamboyant outfits before, so the overly-large green hat and coat did not strike her as that notable.

The Hatter seemed to digest the March Hare's question. He pulled down the brim of his hat and chewed it thoughtfully.

"I'm looking for my friend. Rabbit-y type of guy, you seen him? I don't think I have much time…"

"There's not much time at all!" said the March Hare, tilting her head forward rather sharply.

"No time," said the Hatter. "That's why we're here."

"He's a murderer," said the March Hare, in a loud whisper. A paw was pointed firmly at the Hatter.

"You?" Even Adyson was beginning to find this dream far-fetched.

"Yes," said the Hatter. He removed his hat and clutched it to his chest, illuminated by a spotlight.

"Where did that light come from…" Adyson got the feeling that her question would go unanswered.

"It was a dark and stormy night," said the Hatter, slapping his wrist to his forehead. "I was building a time machine. Everyone loved me. And then I said, 'I'd love to do this forever'! And then she" – he pointed at the Hare – "jumped up and said 'he's murdering the time!' and then the Queen said 'off with his head!' and now it's always summer."

"I busted him," said the Hare triumphantly. "I didn't expect to get stuck in summer though."

"Summer," yawned the Dormouse, and pulled a lever.

The rollercoaster burst into life, and before she fully realised what was happening, Adyson was dangling upside down as the cars went into a loop. She held on to the safety bar for dear life, but none of her companions gave any indication that they were on a rollercoaster.

"A riddle!" said the Hatter. "Do you know what A-G-L-E-T spells?"

"That's not a riddle!"

"Do you mean to say that?" said the March Hare, as if Adyson had said something extremely profound.

"I say what I mean," Adyson shouted over the racket, clambering back into her seat.

"That's not the same," said the Hatter. "I like what I do is not the same as I do what I like!"

"You can prick your finger," yawned the dormouse, barely audible. "Don't finger your prick…"

"Another riddle!" said the Hatter.

The cars had come to a halt at the very top of the track. It looked like there was a three mile drop straight down. Adyson could feel her palms beginning to sweat, and decided to focus on the Hatter rather than her surroundings.

"Why are you only noticing this now?" said the Hatter. "Are you that slow?"

"Noticing what?" Adyson heard her own voice grow slightly hysterical.

The car groaned and hurtled downward without delay. The scream of the wind rushing past her ears seemed a little late – for a moment she plummeted in silence, the question hanging over her head like a death sentence. Then the track thundered as wheels repeatedly rose into the air and slammed down with a shudder. Even at such impossible speeds, the ground seemed so far away.

"If you want to save Irving," said the March Hare, "shouldn't you save the other?"

"What other?" This time, Adyson couldn't hear her voice. "Where do I go?"

Colours raced into one another, most coherent images a blur. The Hatter leaned in close, his face massively distorted, shrunken eyes leading to a huge nose. He was leering, and his companions soon echoed his movements. The ground was still a long way off.

"**Running away, are we?**" said the Hatter, his voice clawing at Adyson's ears and mind.

There was something there, in the featureless blur. Adyson knew that was impossible, but it felt as if something was watching her, moving towards her as easily as if she was completely static and not tearing downwards.

"NO!" she screamed, resolving that her voice would not be drowned out.

The Hatter jerked away, his face returned to normal. The earth seemed very close now – the roller coaster was going to slam into it. Adyson reeled in her space as it dawned on her that there was no possibility of escape.

"If you wish to solve this…"

"Bust it!" snapped the Hare.

"The Queen," said the Dormouse.

"How?" Adyson knew she did not speak this time. Her thoughts spoke nonetheless.

"The Wabbajack!" said the Hatter.

He raised his arm; something flashed, the ground rushed up to meet her. The roller coaster was cacophonic, ripping its way inside, screaming the entire way… The light grew brighter until Adyson covered her eyes. The screams of metal soon gave way to very human screams; sobbing and pleas for mercy. Then silence and darkness took their place.

* * *

It was simply dark. Adyson knew that. Big difference between darkness and nothingness, she told herself. She thought that this was Very Good Advice for her current predicament. Not that she would pay it much heed.

The roller coaster was gone, and the mad inventors along with it. Adyson floated as if underwater; adrift in a sea of blackness. She could only see her hand if she brought it so close it was touching her nose, and whichever way she twisted there was no exit in sight.

"Might as well wait then. I wonder if I can speak whale. HEEEOOOOLLLLP! HEEE… I can't speak whale."

A crescent moon bobbed into view, almost pure white in contrast to the black. It wavered as if pushed by a current, and then flopped onto its side. Adyson groaned inwardly.

"That's no moon."

The moon spread a little wider, and the Cat appeared behind it, his eyes dropping into place first. Adyson noted that he seemed to have taken offence when she had called him a furry – now he looked like a boy wearing cat ears and a tail. If anything, she thought this looked worse.

"You can't hang around here all day," he said, swimming around her. "Kommienezuspadt and all that. Heheh."

"I dunno what the hell's going on. You look like one of those creepy people who go to fan conventions by the way."

The Cat frowned and vanished, only to reappear as an actual cat again. Adyson much preferred a talking cat to someone dressed as a cat.

"Make up your mind," Rains grumbled. "Believe me, that's going to be important."

"I wish people would just tell m-!"

The black sea winked out of existence instantly, and Adyson landed with a thud and a yelp of pain in a cultivated garden that was now sporting the addition of several crushed roses. Beginning to tire of the author's tricks, Adyson swore as she picked herself up.

The gardens were vast, sporting various hedge mazes and large roses. Greek and Roman busts and larger statues sat atop short columns or adorning fountains. Adyson could just about glimpse a grand palace over the hedges, gleaming in the midday sun.

"Typical. I walked into a costume drama."

Adyson followed the winding path through the rose garden, becoming aware of the commotion of a nearby, yet unseen crowd. When she turned the corner of the nearest hedge, she found herself almost bowled over.

"I know I'm a pop-culture junkie… but Jesus."

The lawn led up to a large throne, upon which sat the Queen of Hearts, absentmindedly brushing her long red hair. Adyson had guessed it would be Ferrea, but it was the crowd that she was surprised by. The subjects of the kingdom were a jumble of characters: actors, cartoon characters, old paintings, action heroes, princesses, historical figures and even moving pottery. She had known she was dreaming, but even this felt impossible.

The gryphon flew overhead, screeching orders. "Bow to your queen! Bow, you shits!"

The characters were milling around pleasantly, holding their own conversations and games, barely noticing Adyson as she slipped in among them. Squeezing her way between Shinji Ikari and Father Jack Hackett, she made her way towards the throne. She muttered her apologies as she stepped on someone's foot.

"Your etiquette is bad and you should feel bad!"

"I said I was sorry- ow! Oops, pardon me, Mr Elfman."

The queen was beginning to speak, but Adyson was having a hard time making out the details. She pushed harder through the crowd, disrupting a game of rock paper scissors between Vic Vega and a polar bear. The crowd was slowly beginning to follow her progress. When she burst out into the open, she was hardly surprised to find that the Queen of Hearts was staring straight at her.

"Hello Adyson. You're late."

The Queen gestured to her side, where the white rabbit stood shackled alongside the Duchess and the Hatter. Tiny movement under the Queen's had revealed that the caterpillar was also trapped.

"Right," said Adyson. "It's a dream, yadda yadda, give me back my friends."

"Perhaps a different approach?" The Cat whispered in her ear.

"They stand accused of being useless," said the Queen. "Helpless, neglected. When a dog is sick, it must be put down."

Adyson stepped closer to the throne. The caterpillar squirmed in the Queen's grip, and the white rabbit looked up pleadingly.

"If this is my dream, it's my head. Let them go."

"You don't know your own mind. You are the guilty party," said the Queen. "Off with their heads!"

Adyson began to cry out, but it died in her throat as three figures approached. The drill sergeant was the only one who looked at her, but the other two emanated as much malice as him. The old man pushed up spectacles that flashed blue in the light. The other man, face rotting in a shaven head, dripped his own flesh onto the grass, knives dropping into his grasp.

"Adyson," the Cat said, his voice urgent. "You need to understand why you're here. I can't answer for you."

The Queen raised her hand, dangling the caterpillar. Ironside was raising a huge axe, double-sided and curved to vicious points.

Something rolled in the pit of Adyson's stomach. She didn't make decisions, that was usually Gretchen's area, or Isabella's, or…

"I… I don't know! People keep telling me that I need to…"

The crowd was little more than a blur, and Adyson felt a stab of fear. The alien presence was there again, behind the blur, coming towards her unseen. Around her neck, the Cat hissed.

"Adyson, what have you passed by without noticing? Ignorance has a price, but ignorance of what?"

The Queen clutched Gretchen tightly. Suddenly it did not look like a caterpillar at all, but Gretchen herself, stretching and writhing in pain, screaming for help. The Duchess and the Hatter were being forced to their knees. The white rabbit was screaming, and the image of Irving, lying dead on the steps of the Flynn-Fletcher house, appeared before her.

_Fox. Mr Fox. The child's shoes. _

_Smile Away. The Ludovico Treatment._

_Gretchen. Ludovico._

_Jean. Gretchen's mom, and…_

_I deserve this._

"Gretchen!" Adyson screamed suddenly.

Everything ground to a halt. The executioners stood by, staring directly at her. The Queen watched carefully, the caterpillar still in her grasp. The only thing that moved was the thing that had been approaching throughout the dream, stalking behind the crowd.

"That's it!" Thomas exclaimed. "Why?"

"Gretchen… I could have done more…"

"Of course you could have," said the Queen. "It's very easy to do more when you've done nothing."

Adyson sank to the ground. "I'm… I was wrapped up in myself… Gretchen was getting worse, and I never asked. I'm just as bad as everyone else…"

The presence came closer, and Adyson felt real despair for the first time in her life, a wave of self-hatred sweeping her body. The Queen was smiling maliciously. Adyson felt tears run down her face, but it felt more as if she was drowning. The blurring crowd seemed to wash inward like the tide, dragging her down with them.

The presence had taken its shape. The man walking towards her was almost unique in his utterly unremarkable appearance. His face and clothing were like blank slates, and Adyson could see the worst of everything in them. He barely walked at all, advancing with little movement through the crowd. Adyson felt her legs buckle every time she tried to rise and run.

"Apathy is a form of abuse in itself!" The Queen shouted. "You could always have done more. You are pathetic, a sad little bitch crying out for attention you're too selfish to bestow on others!"

"Adyson," Rains said, protectively curling around her neck. "That's the first step. Deconstruct, then reconstruct. The bland man is coming for you. Why should he leave?"

Adyson could not answer, choking on her own words. The man was reaching down, hand stiffly grasping at her face, his expression like an old mannequin. She could not close her eyes, writhing as sweat poured down her face. The Cat was warm around her neck, almost suffocating in trying to get her attention.

Her attention.

"Even right now I'm being distracted!" Adyson yelled.

The man stepped back. Adyson stood up.

"I accept what I've done," she said, and for one of the few times in her life, she felt powerful rage surging through her. "But if I punish myself for it, who's to look after Gretchen next time? Perhaps I haven't been any use."

The Hatter shifted, and revealed that his shackles were broken. The white rabbit was getting to his feet, helping the Duchess. The caterpillar was wriggling free. The Cat grinned.

"I might be useless. But people rely on me. So you're not taking me with you. Get. Out!"

Adyson focused it all, boiled her rage. The crowd was backing away, returning to her featureless blur. The prisoners were running, heading to freedom. The Queen of Hearts was screaming 'off with her head!' but her executioners were cowering. The featureless man was frozen in terror, defeat written on his face as his first expression.

"The time has come," the young girl said, "to talk of other things: of shoes – and ships – and sealing wax – of cabbages and kings."

Adyson and the Cat laughed as her rage and imagination rushed forward. Buford and Baljeet stood towering above the Queen, the walrus and the carpenter bearing down on Adyson's enemies. The walrus bellowed and set upon them, the carpenter not far behind. Ferrea was screaming in rage. The featureless man began to run, but he did not get far.

"Who cares for you?" said Adyson. "You're nothing but a pack of cards."

Wonderland and its hedgerows and flowers seemed distant now. With the Cat around her neck, Adyson watched as the walrus and the carpenter destroyed her guilt and self-loathing, before feeling herself fade like the Cat had done so many times. She was waking up.

"Shall we be trotting home again?" Buford and Baljeet asked together.

But answer there came none.

And this was scarcely odd, because they'd eaten everyone.

* * *

The darkness was back. Adyson felt herself floating again, but she felt oddly content. The Cat faded into existence above her, grinning. Although now that she thought about it, he didn't look much like a cat anymore. It was just Rains hovering before her, his grin oddly devoid of any malice.

"Why did you help me?"

"It's just a dream, Adyson. Heh."

"And yet, it's just as fictional as when I'm awake."

Thomas nodded, chuckling to himself.

"You're dead, you know that," Adyson told him.

"But we both know that," said Rains. "What is death in fiction anyway?"

"Heh. I suppose. That still doesn't explain anything. Why would you help save me?"

"Because I'm unpredictable. Because I'm bored." His face grew serious. "Because everything ends, and there's been enough despair. They all lived happily ever after is popular for a reason."

"And I have something to do. Time to wake up."

Time to wake up," he agreed. "Aheheh. Goodbye."

* * *

Gretchen was sleeping peacefully. As with most things in her life that proceeded along these lines, the peace was soon shattered by Adyson. Gretchen yelped and fumbled for her glasses as the other girl landed on her bed with such energy that the bed threatened to snap in two.

"Adyson, what are you doing? In the name of any deity, what would possess you to-!"

Adyson had grabbed her rather forcefully by the shoulders. Gretchen felt all the wind go out of her as she was pulled into a crushing hug. She had not planned for this type of thing. People were not exactly in a rush to hug her. It was rather confusing, actually.

"You're a douche, Gretch," said Adyson.

"…Thank you?" Gretchen said, struggling to breathe. "This is unorthodox and a little saccharine, please let go."

Thankfully, Adyson did. The two girls sat in a strange silence. Gretchen was trying to look rather superior about the whole incident, but her expression just revealed that she was completely baffled.

"What was that for?"

"I… it made sense a second ago," Adyson said sheepishly. She smirked. "That's what affection is like among normal people, Gretchen."

Gretchen pushed her glasses up her nose and edged out of bed. The sun was rising, just touching the edge of Danville with its rays. Gretchen shrugged a little and let out a chuckle that she couldn't quite explain.

"Is it? Hurm. Interesting. Let's go."

"Go where?"

Gretchen was almost halfway out of the room before she answered.

"There's one hundred and three days left of summer. That's a lot of time to enact our usual inexplicable cases. You coming?"

Adyson grinned and, as she always did, followed.

* * *

**Well, ladies and gentlemen, it's been fun. I'm pretty sure I'm out of ideas now, so I can't drag this series out any longer. Yes I uploaded two chapters today – the previous one does have an explanation for that.**

**And we return to the thing that stalked Heinz and Roger through the woods. I was thinking of how to close the series and I realised just how much crap I put children through. So he's like an amalgamation of all the abuse in the series, a personification of the gauntlet the characters have had to run through. It's why he's so featureless – you could put Ironside's face on him, Fox's, whatever. No, I'm not on drugs, why do you ask?**

**The series started with Rains, and he never liked the fourth wall much, so he had to have a role. Adyson, while not present from the start, pretty much defines everything ridiculous about the stories, so she needed to be there too.**

**And yes, Adyson's Wonderland begins and ends by quoting The Walrus and the Carpenter.  
**

**And there are so many references in the series, the crowd of characters was the inevitable result. Goodbye so soon, everyone, I'm finally done.**

**The end. Fin. Complete. Yadda, yadda, yadda. Goodnight.**


End file.
